


Facts & Numbers

by middlemist



Series: When Everything Sang the Same [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 10:31:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4259979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemist/pseuds/middlemist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas is a logical man. And the truth of the matter is that the facts and numbers shouldn't add up to Ellana Lavellan. </p><p>But they do. </p><p>Every single time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Summer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was originally gonna be a oneshot, but it's over 21k and my computer is NOT having that on one doc, so i'll give it to you guys in a series!! this idea's been in my head for AGES so hope you enjoy & if you'd like to, please tell me what you think!

Solas knows he’s good at his job. He’s really, truly, very good. Probably the best in the school. Maybe the world.

Objectively speaking.

It’s not just pride that dictates that strain of thinking, but rather the effect of his methods. He’s seen his students leave him teachings and do great things: discover ancient tombs and relics, uncover secrets of ancient times, recognize once forgotten languages; the like. He teaches, they learn. He’s good, so they’re good. Cause and effect.

There’s nothing prideful about it.

***

He knows his coworkers don’t like him. Or, at least, that they find him remarkably frustrating and somewhat of a smart ass, which he can’t entirely deny.

Professor Varric Tethras is one of the only one who seems to actually entertain the idea of an acquaintance in him. Mr. Dorian Pavus, as well, enjoys his company, though Solas can find him a slight bit overbearing at times (the constant clothing critique is a bit much to bear, especially at such a consistent rate). Varric sits with him at lunch sometimes, clacking away at his computer keys while Solas drinks tea.

“You’re always cringing when you drink that stuff,” Varric observes from the corner of his eye. He smirks. He’s wearing his hair in a stub of a ponytail today, the top button of his dress shirt unbuttoned to reveal a tuft of dark chest hair. He doesn’t know why Dorian’s always critiquing _him_. “Just toss it. Buy a soda, or something. Go crazy.”

“It’s good for you,” he insists, setting it down. They’re in the campus courtyard, sitting at one of the few benches dotting the terrace, underneath a brush of trees. He can see some of his students running about the quad; some rushing to get to class, some lazily dreaming on a patch of green earth, huddled together like flocks of hens. Stray blonde hairs, like strands of spun gold, blowing in the wind. He feels a quick, metallic pang of something in his chest, like an arrow. It’s gone before he can recognize the feeling for what it really is.

He takes another sip of tea.

“What are you writing now?” Solas asks, trying to lean over to see what it is that Varric’s been obsessed with all day.

Varric grins slyly, turning the computer away for himself. He wags a finger in front of Solas’s face, tauntingly, _“Tsk-tsk-tsk,_ Chuckles. Patience is a virtue.”

“It’s not technically patience if I’m not waiting for anything. That is, since you never tell me.”

“Well, you’ll find out soon enough.”

“That’s what you said about the last unfinished novel. What was it called again? _A Midnight Ménage à-”_

Without missing a beat, Varric shoves his hand to cover Solas’s shameful mouth. He grimaces, “Hey, shut up, why don’t you? This place is crawling with students. I don’t need them getting new information to update my Wikipedia page.”

Solas swats away his hand, smirking, to take another sip of tea.

***

Solas sometimes sits in his classroom with no one there. He loses hours in between it all. Before school, after school, and in between; it all meshes into one, amorphous concept he can’t quite process.

Varric worries about him for this reason. He’ll fall asleep at night at his desk; sometimes he draws, sometimes he reads, or sometimes, he’ll just be there, drooling on a stack of ungraded assignments (“you’ll get in trouble one day, Chuckles, when a student finds your slobber smearing their ink”). Varric’s sometimes offered him to stay over at his place, ever since he lost his apartment, but he’s declined every time.

“The solitary life suits you, Chuckles,” Varric would laugh, throwing a hand over his stomach.

Solas would nod. He supposes it does.

***

Out of all of his students, Solas would have to say Cole is his favorite (teachers lie when they say they don't have favorites; they’re like parents in that way). But he would also have to be the most infuriating.

He's smart, undoubtedly. Most of the students in the class have to be in their mid-twenties, but according to his file, Solas believes Cole’s age is only 21 or so. He looks younger, but then again, he’s never gotten a good look at him exactly, his eyes and face always covered under either a hat or his long, wispy blonde hair

Still, he’s never focused. He’ll sit in the wrong seat, then turn up in another the next moment, as if by magic. Solas didn’t understand these little quirks, and he couldn’t say he ever tried. He accepted his eccentricities for side effects of his intelligence, in which he was clearly not lacking. He’d never gotten below a 98 on any assignment (the ones he handed in anyway),  and yet he’d never said more than a few muttered phrases in class.

One day Solas decides to call him to his desk after class, to discuss the matter of a few incomplete homeworks. He can barely see his eyes under that flop of hair.

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing he says upon approaching the desk. Solas is shocked, his lips turning to a frown. “I had time, I just didn’t do them. Couldn’t focus. Other ideas, other people. Other things need attention.”

“I understand, Cole,” Solas says, as empathetic as possible. “You’re one of my best students. I just don’t want you to fall behind.”

Cole looks up, alert. Solas thinks he can catch a flash of gray, behind the blonde. “How can I fix that?”

“Well,” Solas muses, chewing on the corner of his lip, pensive. “I’m not quite sure. Perhaps I can give you a few extra credit assignments for me to work on.”

“Yes, yes, good, good,” Cole says with a curt nod. “I think I can do that. I’ll do my very best.”

“All right, then,” Solas says, offering a wan smile. He settles back in his chair, pantomiming towards the door, if Cole can even see. Students from the next class are beginning to settle into their seats, “Have a good day, Cole. I’ll send you an e-mail the moment I have any ideas.”

Cole nods, though he doesn’t move. His heels are dug into the linoleum ground, focus turned on one thing only.

“Bags under your eyes,” he murmurs to himself, just loud enough that Solas can only make out the last few syllables. “Sleeping, yet always tired. You never let yourself enjoy a single moment. Why?”

Solas blinks. “Sorry?” He sputters, taken aback by the sudden influx of speech from Cole, who’d been previously mute all semester.

“You sleep here, in your classroom. I saw your pillow under your desk before,” he observes, gesturing to the floor, where a strip of the pillow’s blue striped design can be clearly made out. Solas kicks it to the side, embarrassed. “You’re restless. Something’s keeping you up, but you’re not quite sure.”

“Cole, I -”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” He interjects, his insistence verging on a prayer.

Solas stops short, caught off guard. He’s not wrong - he hasn’t been sleeping well lately. His dreams keep him up at night, always one nightmare after another. Sleep is a world he can’t control.

“I’m fine, Cole,” he says with a shake of his head. Cole couldn’t do anything to help him, and if he asked, it’d verge on inappropriate. “Thank you for your concern, though.”

A ghost of a smile toys at his lips, and he nods, his wispy blonde strands moving with him. “Anything to help,” he says softly. Solas looks up from his stack of papers to offer him a smile, but when he looks up, he’s vanished into thin air.

***

It’s three o’clock. Solas still can’t sleep, no matter how tired he is. The part of him that’s awake checks his e-mail. He has one new message in his inbox.

 

> Subject: Insomnia help!
> 
> From: spiritsinhats123@aol.com
> 
> To: s.wolff@fu.gmail.com
> 
> \----
> 
> Hello. I remembered our talk this morning and I decided to look into sleep deprivation. I found some websites that may be helpful (I linked them further below).
> 
> You should be happy, Professor. If you need help, I am here.

 

***

Solas spends a good ten minutes staring at the links before he clicks on them. They take him to a website that can only be described as sketchy, dotted with subpar graphics and a pixelated green and black font that looks like dripping blood.

Solas decides he doesn’t want to know what Cole does in his free time.

Still, he presses forward. There are a few weird blurbs describing the true purpose of the site: to unlock your true potential while sleeping, to control it. Solas has heard of lucid dreaming before, but he’s never worked up the dedication or truly found the greater appeal. But if Cole’s insisting that this can help with the nightmares, perhaps it’s worth a shot.

After spending a few more moments on the site, running it over with a fine toothed comb, studying the details as fact, he closes his laptop shut. Quickly, a thought occurs to him, and he reopens it, writing a hasty reply, time stamped at 3:43 AM.

 

> RE Subject: Insomnia help!
> 
> From: s.wolff@fu.gmail.com
> 
> To: spiritsinhats123@aol.com
> 
> \----
> 
> Thank you, Cole. I appreciate it.

 

Solas clicks send, shuts his laptop, grabs his pillow and finds sleep for the first time in days.

***

Solas wakes up for his 10:30 class the next morning feeling absolutely refreshed. In his dreams, he found himself in a dark room, chained to the floor, eight beady sets of yellow eyes staring him down hungrily, like they always are, every single night. No matter how much they yell and shout at him in some strange, ancient language, they’re never able to move out towards the light, nor is he able to free himself.

Last night, however, Solas did as the website instructed; he focused on an object, in this case his chains, long enough until the feeling of it became real. Not long after, he felt himself become able to break the chains. More than that, he was able to walk around, leave the prison he’d been kept in for weeks, and maneuver his way around this fantastical unknown world before. He relished these few hours asleep, which to him felt as fleeting as only a few moments. When he awoke, he was drawn hastily back to reality, whether he enjoyed it or not.

He made sure to stop Cole after class and thank him for sending the link his way, telling him it worked wonders. Cole lit up like a gas lamp, all smiles, “That’s wonderful. I’m very happy to hear that."

“Where did you even come across that website?” Solas found himself asking, curiosity biting him unexpectedly.

Cole pauses for a moment, looking as if a million thoughts were running through his mind that very moment. He stares at the floor, “I...I don’t remember.”

Solas looks concerned, “That’s fine, Cole. Don’t concern yourself,” he says, smiling graciously. “I’m just thankful you thought of me.”

“Of course,” Cole says without hesitation. “You should always have people thinking of you; being _with_ you. You shouldn’t have to be alone.”

Beside him, Solas’s tea has gone cold.

***

For the next few days, Cole begins to join Solas at lunch when Varric can’t. He’s become increasingly more obsessed with finishing his mysterious novel, locking him away in his classroom with every free period possible, leaving Solas alone. Cole finds him sometimes, though, appearing from behind a tree or a wall, ready to offer his company.

“I’m sure you have other friends you could be with right now,” Solas insists, feeling a tad guilty for preoccupying him. “I’m sure it can’t be good for your social standing to be sitting with the _‘Lone Wolf.’”_

Cole frowns, picking apart his sandwich. He leaves everything but the bread and a slice of ham. He’s so skinny Solas bets he could reach right through him. “That’s a silly nickname,” he says stubbornly. “You’re not alone. You have Professor Tethras. You have Professor Pavus. And you have me.”

“...Thank you, Cole.”

“You look more well rested. That’s a good thing,” he says suddenly, taking the smallest of bites from his sandwich.

Solas swallows a gulp of his tea, wincing as it passes over his tongue. “Yes. I feel extraordinary, actually,” he remarks, leaning forward. “That technique is _remarkable_. I’m able to entirely control my dreams now. I can walk around, see things and hear them, things I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced while awake. It’s like an entirely different world, undetected by everyone else, left only to me.”

Cole smiles - there’s a glimmer of something more, another layer to the story, another piece of the puzzle, but it’s gone, the phantom of something greater, doused, like wet candle light. “It’s wonderful. _That’s_ wonderful.”

“I read something else on that website you sent me last night - the one whose origin you can’t remember,” he says, pushing his tea aside. “It said, sometimes these things I’m experiencing...that some people who experience moments unfamiliar to them are experiencing _memories_. When I looked it up anywhere else, I wasn’t able to find anything. Do you have any idea what that might mean?”

Cole puts his sandwich down after another delicate bite, turning instead to fiddle with a pesky hangnail. “Memories are fickle things. They’re real to one person, wrong to another. Blood, gore, chaos turns to sacrifice, triumph, and victory. All of them are shadows, like spirits.”

Solas narrows his eyes, thinking. He’s often confused by Cole’s cryptic language, but he thinks he understands. And he thinks it’s enough for him.

“Don’t let the shadows pull you away, Solas.”

He’s slightly taken aback by Cole’s informality, but in no way unsettled. If any student was to call him by his name, he'd want it to be him; still, he's a bit shocked by it, and the way Cole's mind seems to escape himself when he does it. He reaches to brush his arm, a token of assurance, and is met by the coolest skin he’s ever felt.

“I...I won’t,” he mutters, watching as Cole folds up his leftovers and begin to put them away. Solas looks at him, perplexed, “Leaving?”

Cole looks up, and Solas catches just a glimpse of his eyes. “Yes,” he says. “She’ll be here any second.”

Solas frowns, not quite understanding. “Sorry, who? -”

“ -Cole, _there_ you are! I swear, it’s like you’re just _invisible_ sometimes.”

Solas looks up at the unfamiliar voice, calling out a quite familiar name. A girl comes running up, dressed in burgundy track uniform with the words “FERELDEN UNIVERSITY TRACK TEAM” spelled out on the chest. She’s panting, sweat curling the baby hairs on her face, the rest of her white blonde hair that’s not already falling out pulled back in an elaborate braid at the crown of her head.

“You had me worried,” she says, wiping the sweat from her brow. Her voice is soft and proper, yet not too constrained. It sounds like flying; like what being drunk makes the tips of his fingers feel like. “Don’t just go running off like that, okay?”

“I’m sorry, Ellana,” he says, his voice slicked with guilt. She rests a hand on his shoulder and shifts her focus towards Solas. Her eyes are a bright color he’s never seen before; a mixture between ice and fresh violets. Something inside his gut clenches when she turns to him, like a hand reaching through his stomach and pulling out whatever it may find. He feels like he knows her.

“Thanks for keeping an eye on Cole,” Ellana says, helping him to his feet. She collects his lunch, bagging it for him like a watchful mother.

Solas’s tongue feels heavy, his lips dry, but he still manages to make out a sentence. “Cole’s a very capable young man."

“Oh, I know he’s capable,” she says, smiling. She’s got a grin that could melt the ice in her eyes. “It’s just the being alone that worries me” - she pats him on the back, laughing - “you should have seen him last week. He was waiting for me till I finished practice for a ride back to the dorms and was chasing rabbits for at _least_ thirty minutes.”

Cole smiles, if only a tad bit bashfully, “I like rabbits,” he says simply.

Solas smiles, intrigued. He nods towards her uniform, “You’re on the track team?”

“That I am,” she says. “I’m getting my masters and I live off campus - I feel like I should have some degree of involvement in the school” - she shrugs with indifference - “Plus, I like running. I feel like I’m running everywhere, anyway - might as well make something out of it.” She falters for a moment, all of a sudden focusing on Solas’s face. He feels like she’s staring at him for an eternity before anyone speaks, his heart clenching in his chest. “You’re Cole’s professor, aren’t you? You teach that Ancient Civilizations history course, right?”

He nods, a bit too quickly. Shockingly, he keeps his composure. “Yes, I am,” he says proudly. “Cole’s one of my brightest pupils, in fact.”

“God, that’s so interesting,” Ellana sighs, wistful. The sun hits her cheek at a perfect angle that he can see the lightly sunburnt freckles dotting her skin. “I chickened out of that course last minute because my friend Sera told me how difficult it was. I wish I’d taken it now. Dr. Montilyet's Intro to Politics class lacks a certain degree of...well, being even remotely interesting."

He almost flinches at the mention of his former student; he’d done his best to suppress most of those memories, and now the only thoughts of her he ever had were unpleasant ones, usually involving pranks - like the open jar of bees during one of his classes. He can hardly imagine the two getting along at all.

“Well, Sera is a…” he pauses, trying to pick his words carefully as to not offend her. “...She’s...well, she’s…”

“Whatever expletive you’re thinking of, I agree,” Ellana chirps. “But she’s _my_ expletive, so I guess I’ve learned to deal.”

“Freckles. Sun hits your hair at the perfect angle. A swinging light bulb in an empty room,” Cole suddenly mutters, his words slurred and hard to decipher. When Ellana leans in, a look of confusion, he looks at her straight in the eyes, “He likes your freckles.”

Solas feels his voice get caught in his throat. He wants to disappear. He doesn’t understand how Cole does that; read people in the way that he does, but both he and Ellana are now blushing like children. She blinks, her grip on Cole’s lunch bag tightening. She only glances at Solas before directing them both away, “Well, it was nice to meet you - c’mon, Cole. Cullen’s got the car running.”

Cole nods and follows Ellana like a lost dog, looking over his shoulder to wave goodbye to Solas. He waves back, still petrified from their last moments. He doesn’t understand why his stomach is clenching in the way that it is or why he was so nervous or why it was at all that he liked her freckles so much in the first place. It feels silly; _he_ feels silly, a feeling of dizzy uncertainty that was never fully welcomed in his mind.

More so than anything, he’s unnerved. He’s unnerved by the way he felt when she spoke, by the way her nimble fingers moved to crinkle the bag made his chest compact. He’s unnerved by the familiarity of it all, the way how it somehow feels all new, yet faded, all for her.

Solas tries to push the thought out of his mind. He’s forgotten his tea again, but he drinks it all the same, though it’s lukewarm. He thinks he tastes different - sweeter.  

Honey?

***

Solas has never been to one of these football games before. And Dorian’s crazily into it, for someone who’s so adamantly always brought a vial of stain solution due to a hatred of grass stains.

“I just love it,” he exclaims, energized as ever. His hands are fists, balled up on his thighs, as if ready to hold himself together should he burst in one, expansive ball of energy. Solas thinks it looks rather pathetic: the school’s two unexpected attendees stuck together on the front stands, the reclusive history teacher, paired uncomfortably beside the flamboyant Latin professor with a vaguely morally compromising affinity for watching the athletes run. “Don’t you, Solas?”

Solas has already forgotten their conversation (or, rather, Dorian’s monologue). “Don’t I what?”

Dorian’s too excited to be offended. “Don’t you _love_ it? The sweat, the commotion, the _hysteria!”_

“My ears hurt,” Solas observes, looking around, a stubbornly frustrated look printed on his face. He looks at Dorian curiously, “Is it _always_ this loud?”

“You’re such a wet blanket,” he grumbles, clenching his fists tighter. “Can’t you get into _anything_ that’s not a 200 year old tome?

“I have quite a few hobbies. It’s just none of them involve watching sweaty men running around, chasing balls.”

“Oh, that makes one of us.”

He curses under his breath. “A poor choice of words, on my part.”

“A matter of perspective, dear Solas.”

When Varric arrives, he sits next to Solas. The two of them are surprised to see him, especially when they see he’s with a woman.

“Solas, Dorian, this is Bianca,” he says, gesturing to the woman beside him. She is, objectively speaking, absolutely adorable. Short, with shoulder-length brunette hair that curls around her small, round face, she looks like a doll, or at least some kind of character in some kind of fairy tale. Both Dorian and Solas wonder how Varric would ever get so lucky. “She’s my - um, well, she’s my -”

“We’re friends,” she interjects, smiling as she extends an arm over to shake Solas and Dorian’s hands. She sounds American, like Varric. Did all Americans know each other? “It’s nice to meet you two. Varric was just _thrilled_ to introduce me to his co-workers."

“Is that _so?”_ Dorian asks, wiggling an eyebrow at a cartoon-like speed. “Varric, I _must_ say, I’m surprised you showed up at all.”

“He’s been working all week on that book, I told him he had to get out eventually,” Bianca says with a sly grin, elbowing him discreetly in the ribs. “He’ll thank me one day.”

“One day,” Varric repeats, _“far_ in the future.”

The two of them look at each other, foggy stars in their eyes colliding like nebulous clouds. Then  Bianca turns away. When neither of them are looking, they look sad. Solas sees a gold wedding band glisten on her finger when it hits the lights at just the right angle. And he knows. He wishes, for a moment, that he could be like Cole, and know exactly how to help. Put a love letter in her bag when she went to the lou; whisper to Varric to compliment her hair, then skitter away, undetected and forgotten, like a rock on water; he wishes he could do anything.  Be anything. Anything but helpless, solitary him.

“Hey, what's this little gathering over here?” A shrill voice calls out, snapping Solas out of his thoughts."An episode of _'Teachers Gone Wild’?”_

 _“Sera,”_ Varric breathes monotonically, watching as the spritly blonde barrels down the stands to squeeze right between him and Solas. “Nice to see you.”

She’s currently devouring an ice lolly. It’s in the shape of a cartoon character, with candies for eyes. Melted ice cream drips down her face and onto her lap. Solas tries to imagine her and Ellana as friends, sharing secrets over text, borrowing clothes, dancing to the stereo to all hours of the night. He’s not quite successful.

“Missin’ ya, teach,” she says, nudging Solas’s arm with her own. “My world’s just not the same without ya.”

“The feeling is mutual," he deadpans, eyes not yet leaving the football field.

She grins slyly, lifting her nose up as she bites one of the candy eyes off her ice cream. It crunches like rocks between her teeth. “Ellana told me ‘bout you this morning. Never knew you had a thing for freckles, yeah? You should really see my -”

 _“Ellana?”_ Dorian intervenes, swooping in at the perfect time. He grins, “I love it. Ellana. It just rolls off the tongue.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Even insinuating such a thing is inappropriate,” Solas bites, narrowing his eyes. He feels himself flush, his heart pounding. Why did she have to go and tell Sera, of all people?

“Hey, she’s not _your_ student. There's no conflict of interest there. Plus, Ellana’s always been up for a bit of fun in the past,” she snickers, nearly dropping her ice cream.

“You’re delusional.”

 _“You’re_ blushing.”

“I am not,” Solas snaps, obstinate. He wishes he’d stayed home - or rather, in class. Why’d he let Dorian drag him out like this?

Sera smirks, rolling her eyes. “Shame, though. Pretty sure she’s been bumpin’ bits with that Cullen boy. _Cully-Wully._ Too uptight, in my opinion. All he ever talks about is joining the military. He already looks like an action figure" - she wiggles an eyebrow at Solas, who's facing towards the field - "Bet Ellana's been playing with _that_ toy all night long, yeah? But who could blame her?”

Solas feels caught off guard, like he’s been tossed overboard. He knows he shouldn’t ask; he really shouldn’t - and yet, he takes the bait. “Cullen?”

Sera takes the last bite of her ice cream and uses the stick to point towards the field. A few drops of melting ice cream fall into the hair of the people in front of them, but nobody notices. “Cullen Rutherford. That kid there” - she’s pointing to the captain, a stocky blonde with an impressive build and bone structure - “hot, right? Not my type, obviously. His tits are big, but not nearly enough.”

“Good for them,” Solas says with a nod. He wishes his face wouldn’t get so hot. “I’m not sure why you’re telling me this, though.”

Sera sits back in her seat, hugging her legs to her chest. She’s tiny, but even she takes up a massive amount of space on the small stands. “Liar,” she scoffs under her breath, glancing upwards at Solas. He refuses to return her stare.

Moments later, the game finally starts. Sera and Dorian are into it; so much so, they’re nearly falling over each other to shout the loudest. Sera makes a few crass comments on the cheerleaders' skirts, and Varric is silent for most of it, with the exception of speaking with Bianca. Solas betrays himself by finding his eyes constantly watching Cullen; his every move, his every pivot, his every fake out. Every time he kicks and scores and the crowd roars in applause, they might as well be shouting for Solas’s execution. By the end of the game, his nails are digging indents into the palms of his hands. They’re almost blue.

“Good game, yeah?” Sera says by the end of it. Half the people have left the stands now, and their popcorn and sweets are littered along the aisles. Sera’s included. “Thought Orlais was gonna win at first, but that’s our _Cully-Wully._ Always takin’ us home” - she glances at Solas, smirking - _“some_ more often than others.”

For the fortieth time that night, he ignores her.

“You wanna go down and congratulate them?” Sera asks, more pointedly at Dorian, who’s still hyped up from the enthusiasm of the game.

His eyes light up, “Absolutely!” His hand falls on Solas’s shoulder, leaning into his ear, “Do you think it’d be too strange if I asked Cullen to sign something for me?"

Solas stiffens, his eyes shifting to the field. Cullen’s on the sidelines now, cooling off with a towel. His teammates crowd around him, offering adulation and high-fives. At some point, a familiar face wanders onto the field, attacking him from behind in a massive hug. Ellana’s changed into civilian clothes, a collared shirt and jeans, but still her hair is intact in an elaborate braid. He turns away before he sees them kiss.

“I’m going to head back,” Solas says, shaking himself free of Dorian’s grasp.

Sera watches him as he walks out alone, wiggling her fingers towards him in a gesture. “See ‘ya, lover boy!” She coos, smirking, “Betcha missed seeing me, didn’t ‘ya?”

***

Solas explores the outside world a bit more in his dreams that night. He wonders about what the website said about them being memories, remnants from a past that no longer exists.

When he wanders far enough, he begins to see other people. He blends in, as if he belongs. He wants to. He becomes a part of their clockwork, always ticking to the end of the day, just as anyone else would. Sometimes, though, he can blend seamlessly into the background. He watches from the shadows as a baker woman with strange, curling horns on her head, like a ram's, places a pinch of sugar into her bread and smiles; he smiles with her. On a different night, he watches soldiers prepare for a battle, bruised and battered, kissing small portraits of their wives when no one else is looking; on that same occasion, he sees the leader of the battle, valiant and noble, lead their troops into victory. And he thinks he knows what Cole was saying, about the memories, and about their shadows. And about how they'll pull you in when you're not looking. He doesn't think he cares.

He thinks of Ellana when he’s dreaming. He thinks of her familiar face, the curve of her plump lips, soft and pink like the petals of a flower; the innocence of her sweet, doe like eyes. He wonders if memories of her exist here, in this strange dream world. He surely looks; yet, he can find nothing. Every thought of her is met with a throbbing pain in his head that is quite palpable, even in a dream world, as if the world was telling him to stop. And yet, he can’t.

***

Dorian drops by the next day. He's brought a stack of books with him, dropping them on Solas's desk without a word. Solas glances up at him curiously, and the at the books: they're all self-help guides, most of them about romantic attraction. Books on astrology; cheesy guides on love; and one in Latin, with a title he can't entirely make out, a rather scandalous photo as its cover.

Before long, he swipes the Latin text up and holds it tightly to his chest. "Oops! That one's mine. Don't think you'd benefit from it much."

Solas gives him a suspicious look, "What are these, Dorian?"

He straightens, his posture proud. When he grins, his mustache twitches slightly. "I figured it's been a long time since you've experienced anything even remotely close to an intimate relationship. I took it upon myself to lead the charge. No need to thank me."

"There will be nothing of the sort, don't worry," he says speculatively, flipping awkwardly through the numerous texts. He looks up at him with a frown, "I know what you think you heard the other night, but that was just Sera being Sera. I have absolutely no interest in a child."

"She's twenty-eight," Dorian exclaims. "She’s _hardly_ a child."

Solas frowns at him and cocks a skeptical brow.

"All right, all right - I looked up her file. Sue me," Dorian sighs, pulling a seat up to his desk. "Listen, Solas. I know that with my dashingly good looks and captivating personality, sometimes I get a bit wrapped up in myself."

"Hmm," he muses flatly. "Would you know, I _have_ noticed that."

"Of course you noticed it. I'm _hardly_ unnoticeable," he says with a grin, holding a hand over his heart. "Although, as I was saying, even though I get a bit lost in myself at times" - he furrows his brow, pursing his lips, as if whatever was on his mind was laboriously struggling to escape his lips - "You're a good friend to me, Solas. I care about you. And you're always on your own - it  can't be good."

"I'm perfectly content being alone," Solas insists to both Dorian and himself, pushing the stack of books away from himself.

"There's a difference between being alone and being lonely, Solas," Dorian reminds him. "Some people can be alone and be perfectly happy. Some people can be around people all the time and be miserable. You're both, Solas - both alone and lonely. And what a terrible combination that can be."

Solas frowns, burying his hands in his lap, staring at the floor. His pillow is under his desk. "So, did you just come here to insult me, then?"

"You do me no credit," Dorian remarks, pulling himself up, gesturing animatedly towards the books. "They're my gift to you. From a friend."

"You're absolutely insane."

"I'm leaving now," Dorian pipes, hovering towards the door, "before you can say no!"

"I already said no. Several times, as a matter of fact."

Dorian waves goodbye to him from outside the doorway, only a sliver of his smirking face visible still. “Oh, but what’s the fun in _‘no’?”_

***

Solas sees Ellana in the courtyard every day now. He wonders how he didn’t before.

Sometimes she’s in her uniform, but sometimes she’s in something simple; a frock, or a breezy blouse and trousers. She always looks put together, even when she’s covered in a layer of grime and sweat from running all day.

She’s usually sitting with her friends, chatting or eating lunch. He knows a few of them from class; he’s got Cassandra in his Wednesday lecture, and he’s heard of Vivienne from Dorian as a bit of a bitch (though every description has seemed to match him perfectly). Of course, he knows Sera, who usually lingers around, always up and moving, sprawled across a patch of grass or shooting bugs with a rubber band.

Sometimes, Cullen will drop by too. It’s different seeing him up close, in simply a t-shirt and jeans. He’s twice Ellana’s size, with a head of thick blonde curls and glassy blue eyes. The only detectable imperfection is a slightly jagged scar across his lip, though Solas has known many to find scars attractive. He wonders if Ellana does too.

Today, however, she is alone in the courtyard, reading underneath the shade of the tree. Solas catches himself glancing her way more than he’d like to confess. Sometimes their eyes lock. It’s electric.

At one point, he feels her presence weighing on him. Looking up, he sees she’s standing right there, holding her book to her chest. Her hair’s slightly different today; it’s a tad more messy, with more loose strands falling out of the bun. It suits her.

“Mind if I sit?” She asks, with all the confidence in the world.

He only nods, burying his face back in his work. He’s grading papers again. A test about ancient Mesopotamia. Nobody’s gotten above an 83 yet.

“Looks fun,” she pokes sarcastically, nodding towards his work.

He allows himself a meager smile in agreement, “Oh, it’s thrilling, really.”

“I imagine the concept is. Not so much the grading.”

“Well, then you’d be more than correct."

Ellana laughs. She has a lovely laugh. The skin around her nose crinkles.

“Look,” she speaks up, sighing. “I’m sorry if Sera made you uncomfortable the other day. I really didn’t mean anything by telling her what had happened. She’s always poking fun at Cole, so I just made a joke, and she took it too far.”

Solas’s teeth clench, the grip on his pen tightening. A small pool of red ink builds on the paper. “She’s rather good at that, isn’t she?”

“She’s a good person, on the inside. On the outside, she’s kind of…well, not.”

“Eloquently put."

Detecting a note of sarcasm, she scoffs, amused. “Well, how would you say it?”

“Oh, I wasn’t being ironic. I can think of no better way to put it myself," he retorts. From where she’s sitting, she can catch a sliver of a grin. “Don’t concern yourself with what happened. Cole misinterpreted the situation.”

“Of course,” Ellana says, nodding her head, as if to convince herself. “I just...didn’t want to leave things the way they were."

Solas glances up, desperate to change the topic. “So. You and Cole, you’re close?” He prods, knowing it may be intrusive.

She smiles, “He’s like a little brother,” she says, slipping into the words comfortably, as if she’s done so before. “We met a few years back. He popped out of no where, behind me in the supermarket. He told me the milk I was looking at was expired; that I’d get sick if I drank it. He was so concerned - it was so sweet that I took him out for a coffee, and now he’s like part of my family.”

He chuckles, “Somehow that story does not surprise me in the least bit.”

“What? The part about me being dumb enough to almost buy expired milk, or that Cole would help me out of it?”

He smirks, quirking a brow, “Your words, not mine.”

She shakes her head, laughing, “God. _Teachers_. You’re always so quick on your feet when it comes to words. It’s infuriating.”

He nearly winces at the formality of the word. _Teachers_. She says it like how she’d called Cole a brother. Shaking off his discomfort, he simply nods in honest appreciation. “Well, thank you coming to speak with me. It was very noble of you.”

She leans back in her seat casually, grinning. “I am quite noble, aren’t I?”

“Sadly, I wouldn’t know,” Solas says, daring a small smirk. He looks up at her, their eyes crashing for the first real time. They feel like two satellites, parallel, drifting away from each other with each passing second.

“Perhaps if I took your class next year, you’d understand my eloquence on a deeper level,” she suggests, laughing.

Solas nods. His fingers on his pen clenches a bit tighter. He thinks how embarrassing it’d be, if he broke it and the ink spilled all over the paper, and yet he can’t find the willpower to release it. He nods with a grin, gesturing to his little set up around him. “Well, if you’re interested, you know where to find me."

***

Cole’s class is held twice a week, every Thursday and Sunday. He missed last Sunday’s class, after the incident with Ellana occurred. Solas, at first, felt angry with Cole, but since, that feeling has faded; instead, he just feels sorry for ever assuming malcontent in the first place.

Cole’s there on Thursday, quiet as ever throughout the entire period. Solas goes on about their new subject in the textbook - it’s a chapter on fictional ancient civilizations (elves, dwarves, and such) - and how they impacted real ones. It’s fascinating stuff, really, and Solas would’ve thought Cole would be more engaged; yet, he remains still, faded into the background of the class, a ghostly imprint on the wall.

“If you have any questions on the reading, send me an e-mail. Otherwise, our test will be next week - have a good day.”

The seats quickly empty out, and as per usual, Cole is the last one here. He stops by Solas’s desk without question. He hangs his head, a sorrowful expression on his face.

“I can tell you’re upset by what I told Ellana,” he says softly, his voice like treading over hot coals. “I only wanted to help. I can tell you like her.”

Solas freezes, shaking his head. He ignores his last comment, pressing forward with his own question, “Why weren’t you here last class?” He wonders, “Was it because of that?”

“Yes,” he admits without flinching. “I thought you’d only be angry if you saw me. I don’t want you to be angry with me.”

Solas smiles sadly, “Cole, I’m not angry with you.”

He seems to sigh, relieved. “That’s good. I’m glad,” he says with a nod. His hair’s a bit more out of his face today. Solas can just make out his nose. He has a line of red acne scars covering his cheek. “I just wanted to help. Now I wish I could make her forget.”

“It’s in the past, Cole,” Solas says reassuringly. “We’ve worked through it. It’s all fine.”

Cole looks intrigued, “You’ve spoken?”

“In passing, yes,” he says with a curt nod, making a point to not make much of it. “We only said that we’d both forget it ever happened.”

“She doesn’t want to forget,” Cole says softly, his voice louder this time.

Solas blinks, looking up at him in awe. “Cole…?"

“She thinks about you. She loves Cullen, loves him dearly, maybe like a brother, or a friend, but she thinks about you. She thinks about you thinking of her freckles, and she thinks about how you sip your tea. The way your brow furrows when you think. Catching quick glances of you glancing at her in the courtyard.”

Solas doesn’t know how Cole knows this, but he shakes his head and looks back at his papers. He feels the creeping blush rise to his cheeks. “Um, I should get back to work -”

“You think it’s wrong to look at her. You think it’s wrong to think about her,” Cole says, frowning. “There are no rules against it except the ones you make for yourself.”

Solas looks up. He’s through talking, through dealing with these strange feelings for a girl so far from him in so many ways. “I have a class, Cole. I’ll speak with you later.”

Cole nods, and disappears, like he always does.

***

The books Dorian gave to Solas are sitting in his book case, untouched. He feels a creeping pressure on him to look inside, but he keeps himself preoccupied with his papers. Hours pass that feel like days, but those books remain dusty on the shelves.

Eventually, he wonders if it’d be fine to simply humor Dorian, even if only as a joke. He’s sure there’s enough information in there to be ridiculous, and Solas could use a good laugh, especially with all of the seriousness he’s been experiencing lately.

He bolts off of his seat and grabs a book, nearly ripping through it. He, regrettably, doesn’t get so much sleep that night.

***

Cole e-mails him the next day. It’s early evening, and Solas can see the sun setting from his window. It looks like melting sherbert.

 

 

 

> Subject: concerning that website
> 
> From: spiritsinhats123@aol.com
> 
> To: s.wolff@fu.gmail.com
> 
> \----
> 
> I hope you are still all right. I hope you’re sleeping well, too.
> 
> I thought about what you said. About the memories. I don’t remember where I got the site from, but I found another that may help. I hope it helps.
> 
> Ellana mentioned you today. She asked how you were, if you were doing all right, and I said you were fine. When she looked away she looked very lonely.
> 
> Solas, I like Cullen. I truly do. A hard exterior, like a rock, but soft as snow inside. His heart is true, but it is weak. Like it’s been clawed at, tormented for far too long.
> 
> I like Cullen, I truly do.
> 
> But he isn’t what Ellana needs right now. He’s too broken, needs to be fixed.
> 
> You’re not broken, Solas, just...incomplete.
> 
> Please check the links I sent you. I believe they will be informative.

 

Solas stares at the e-mail. The tab is open until midnight. He forgets to respond.

***

Later, he does check the links Cole sent him. It leads him to a similar website, with the childish gory font and clip art pictures in the background, but the type of content and experiences listed that are so similar to his own leads him to believe that it’s legitimate.

This particular site illustrates the idea of memories in this dream world. How very few, only those with a unique way of thinking, can access them. It also goes onto say just exactly what this dream world is - a realm of its very own; somewhat of a different reality, all while asleep.

Solas, at first, feels skeptical in describing it as an alternate reality. Things feel real, surely, and the experiences are there are obviously different - often occasions he’s seen creatures that don’t appear to be _human_ \- but there’s absolutely no way that it could be anything other than a dream; a manifestation of his own area of study.

He spends a good two hours scrolling through this website, which is significantly more detailed than the last. It illustrates vague and unrealistic concepts; the idea that this realm does connect to memories of those before him, of a past forgotten to the ages. A past where these creatures in his dreams walked the earth, like him today. Mere speculation, Solas thinks, scrolling through paragraphs upon paragraphs detailing these specific incarnations and groups, growing both more skeptical and more interested all at once.

Eventually, he closes the laptop, pushing it to the side as he lays his head on his desk. A fantasy, he thinks. All a fantasy.

***

Solas finds himself with Dorian the next morning, picking up tea from a coffee shop on campus. It’s close and crowded, and surrounded by students, but he feels required at this point to drink it.

“One caramel macchiato for me, and an earl gray tea for my friend here,” Dorian says, ordering for them both, slapping Solas on the back at about the word “friend.”

The barista nods, taking down their orders, and the two move to the pick-up line.

“Did you happen to read any of those books, Solas?” Dorian asks, curious, leaning against the counter in a somewhat suggestive stance.

Solas flushes, shaking his head. He can’t keep the redness from his cheeks, nor can he keep it from crawling up to the tips of his ears like a rash. “No, I didn’t."

Dorian nudges him playfully, “Liar! You’re blushing,” he observes, teasing. He waves a careless hand his way, “Don’t worry about it. I knew you would at some point. You’re desperately hopeless when it comes to this stuff.”

“Last time I checked, you were single as well."

Dorian smirks, a light in his eyes dancing at the thought. He takes his phone out of his messenger bag, burying his face in it, “Well, I wasn’t going to tell you until it was official -”

Solas’s mouth almost drops to the floor. “What? With _who?”_

“Well,” Dorian sighs, settling into himself, as if he were some kind of storyteller. “After Sera and I congratulated Cullen a few weeks back on his win, I met the coach. And I may or may not have wound up hitting it off with him.”

“The football coach?” Solas repeats, wondering if he's heard him correctly. An image of the man scarcely comes to mind - he’s not quite sure of his name, just that he’s known to have a reputation when it came to these matters. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

“He hasn’t been with anyone since we first spoke,” Dorian says proudly. “And that’s an accomplishment. They didn’t just give him the nickname _‘The Iron Bull’_ for having had a frightfully great reputation as a football player."

“I...don’t need to hear any more,” Solas mutters to himself, trying to shake the image from his mind. “But if you’re happy, I am too.”

Dorian’s smirk fades, chipping away to a genuine smile. For a moment, the sarcastic and arrogant barrier that surrounds his body 24/7 seems to fall down, and he can hardly recognize him as Dorian anymore.

“Thank you, Solas,” he says softly. “I truly do appreciate that.”

Solas nods, but the moment of sincerity is not long lived, since their names are quickly called right after by the server.

“Dorian, Solas, and...Elaine?”

A familiar voice pipes up from the back of the crowd. “Um, is that Ellana?”

The server’s eyes widen, a blush staining their cheeks. “Oh, yes! Ellana! Sorry about that” - she says, handing the drinks to all three of them.   
  
Solas feels his body tighten at its core as he sees Ellana approach from the back of the crowd. She’s wearing a light jacket, now that it’s begun to get cold out, but still her hair is tied up elaborately. The tips of her ears, uncovered, are a bright crimson shade, as is the tip of her nose. Her freckles look like they’re fading, now that the sun’s all but gone away .

“Ellana,” Solas says, his mind instantly shocked by the way the name sounds from his own lips. He realizes this is the first time he’s allowed himself to say it out loud. It feels like a different kind of warmth, one that starts in his gut and trails its way up through his throat and out his mouth in an explosion of perfect syllables. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

Dorian seems to appear at her side out of no where. He flashes Solas a wicked grin, though it’s vanished by the time he looks back at her. “Ellana! I believe I met you briefly on the football field after Cullen’s positively valiant victory against Orlais University,” he exclaims, pleased at the memory. “I used to teach there, for a time - awful place. Absolutely _dreadful.”_

“Mr. Pavus,” she grins, instantly remembering. “Of course. It’s good to see you” - she looks at Solas, her smile softening at the edges - “You too, Professor. I hope all is well.”

The sentence sounds so formal - so metallic in her mouth, while her smile looks so sweet and genuine - it sets Solas’s stomach uneasy. Before he can open his mouth to respond, though, Dorian’s already beat him to it.

“Oh, please. Outside of the classroom, we’re Dorian and Solas,” he insists, taking a quick, energized sip of his coffee. Solas hardly thinks he needs it; he’s already got an absurd amount of enthusiasm already.

Ellana smiles bashfully, “Oh, I’m not sure -”

“It’s all right,” Solas interjects, surprising himself. “I’d prefer it, actually.”

She looks caught off guard for a moment, her lips parting for a moment to form a look of surprise. She recomposes herself moments later perfectly, nodding, as if all had been well the whole time. “All right, then, Solas.”

He tries to keep himself together when he hears his name leave her tongue. It may as well be music.

“How have things been, since we last saw you?” Dorian asks, even the simplest of questions sounding theatrical from his mouth. “Climbed any mountains? Slayed any dragons?”

“Not quite - managed to pass my Politics test, though,” she says with a grin. “So, pretty similar.”

Dorian looks at Solas, beaming, “She’s funny. You didn’t tell me she was funny!” He exclaims, overjoyed. He looks back at Ellana, grinning, “He just can’t stop talking about you.”

Solas nearly breaks the styrofoam cup in his hands. “Dorian -"

“It’s all _Ellana this, Ellana that_ at all hours of the day! It’s absolutely maddening! And you should hear the ballads he’s composed in your honor -”

“He does this sometimes,” Solas insists, frowning. He hopes the blush has left his cheeks by now. “It’s one of Dorian’s many... _eccentricities.”_

Ellana wears a quiet smile, her nose crinkling as she stifles a small laugh. She glances at Solas, “Remind me to take Latin next year.”

“It’s a date, my dear,” Dorian chirps excitedly, holding his coffee up in a mock cheer.

She smiles, taking a quick second to check her watch. A flicker of worry passes in her eyes. “Oh, I should head out. I’ll miss my class” - she looks at them sorrowfully, nodding as she makes her way to the exit - “It was great to see you two again, Dorian. Solas.”

Both of them nod and wave back in response, watching as she exits the door, meeting up with what Solas can only assume are Vivienne and Cassandra. He watches her until she’s completely out of sight, long after Dorian’s begun to speak.

“She’s lovely,” he says with a wild grin. He and Solas take a sip from their drink simultaneously. Solas winces when the tea hits his tongue, just as it does every time. Dorian sighs wistfully, “Absolutely lovely.”

***

Varric invites Solas to his home for a drink, a few days later.

Solas remembers Varric inviting him to stay with him after he was evicted from his place, but he doesn’t quite see how more than one person could ever fathom living in his tiny, one bedroom flat. Papers are scattered across the floor, furniture arranged awkwardly, and bottles of empty alcohol litter the carpet. It looks as if the place was robbed, though Solas believes any thief would hardly find anything of value here.

“Sorry I didn’t clean up,” Varric says, kicking a bottle aside to get to the liquor. He takes out two shot glasses, gliding one across the island countertop and into Solas’s hands. “You a whiskey or a tequila guy?”

Solas frowns, “I’m not very good with alcohol.”

Varric laughs so loud it might wake the neighbors. “Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me,” he bellows, grabbing the tequila from the top shelf and seamlessly pouring a glass for Solas, and then himself. Solas eyes the strange liquid oddly, then picks it up, tasting it quickly with a small flick of his tongue. He makes the strangest of faces when he puts the glass down, gasping for breath. Varric almost falls over.

“That’s _vial,”_ Solas snarls, pointing to the liquid, as if it were cursed. “How do you drink that stuff?”

“Quickly and efficiently,” Varric finally says, once his laughter has died down. As a demonstration, he takes his own glass and holds it over his mouth, letting it fall down his throat in a stream. Once finished, it slams it against the counter, wiping his mouth his the sleeve of his shirt. “Just like that. That ought to put some hair on your chest.”

Solas sighs, looking at the glass, his lips turned downwards into a grimace. Reluctantly, he takes the tequila, trying his best to mimic the same expression as Varric, tossing it down his throat as if it were nothing. The moment it hits his throat, though, it’s burning and unpleasant, and the next two seconds are complete agony before he’s able to polish it off. Already queasy, he slams down the glass in a similar fashion (albeit, much weaker) and winces.

This, he decides, is much worse than tea.

“‘Atta boy,” Varric says encouragingly, slapping his shoulder with a heavy hand, nearly knocking him off the stool. He pours himself another glass while Solas collects himself. “So - how are things with that girl going?”

Solas grimaces, wiping his lips. He can still taste it, lingering in his mouth like a spirit. “Please tell me you’ve not bought into Dorian and Sera’s little game.”

“If it’s a game, you’re playing to win, Chuckles,” he insists. “All you do in the courtyard anymore is just stare at her. You might as well quit being a creep and act on it.”

Solas’s mouth tightens, his nostrils flaring. Without thinking, he takes the shot Varric’s poured for himself and downs it, this time with more ease. His friend looks at him incredulously, mouth hanging wide open. Solas frowns, “Doing such a thing would be selfish and inappropriate. She’s a student.”

“Not your student.”

Solas scoffs, “You sound like Sera.”

“Well, maybe Sera’s right.”

Solas’s brain starts to throb against his head like a metronome. “You’re joking.”

Varric grins, pouring himself a new drink - this time, a bit farther away from Solas’s seat. “Miracles happen every day,” he reminds him. Once he’s finished pouring the drink, he gulps it down swiftly, as if it were water. “All I’m saying is that life’s too short. If you feel something, don’t doubt yourself - just go for it."

“What about you and Bianca?” Solas asks critically, instantly regretting the acidity of his tone. He softens his composure, “Surely you feel something greater than friendship.”

“Of course I do. I’d be crazy not to,” Varric scoffs. His casualness about admitting his feelings somewhat shocks Solas, perhaps because he's made his so latent. “But Bianca’s married. That’s a line you don’t cross, no matter how bad you want to.”

“Even if I did feel something for Ellana - which I’m not saying I do,” Solas disclaims. “She’s with Cullen Rutherford. Seemingly happily, may I add.”

“Yeah, but that’s dating. Dating doesn’t have a contract and hundreds of thousands of dollars tied to it,” he says. He draws a finger around the rim of the shot glass, gazing lazily into the bottom of it. “I fucked up with Bianca. I had a chance, and I lost it. Shit got complicated, and I ran. I took the easy way out - you don’t take the easy way out, Chuckles. Never have, never will. Why should this be any different?”

Solas listens to him, staring at his glass. His stomach feels all warm, all of a sudden. He coughs, clearing his throat, “Would you happen to have any tea instead?”

Varric’s mouth widens into a grin, and he shakes his head in laughter. “Why don’t I get you that soda, eh, Chuckles?” He offers, marching to his fridge to grab a can of Coca-Cola. He throws it to him, and Solas catches and opens it in one swift motion. He takes a small sip, then nods at him thankfully.

“Thank you, Varric.”

“No problem. I’ve got plenty of those things, since I usually go straight to the hard liquor.”

“Not for the soda,” he says. “For the advice. I appreciate it.”

“No need to sound like greeting card,” he laughs sarcastically, leaning against the counter. “You’re my friend. Friends help each other out. It’s a thing, in case you didn’t know.”

Solas smiles into his soda. The bubbles tickle his nose.

***

Dorian bursts into Solas’s classroom the next week, in the middle of a lecture. He doesn’t seem to notice the 50 or more students currently taking notes, the projector, or the fact that Solas is teaching, but he bursts in, guns blazing, all the same.

“It’s Facebook official, Solas!” He cries, waving a phone in the air. His eyes are light embodied. “It’s Facebook official!”

All falls quiet in the room except for the sound of Dorian’s feet, jumping up and down on the linoleum floor. Solas’s eyes widen, his jaw tightening. “That’s lovely, Mr. Pavus,” he says sternly, a few giggles beginning to rise from the back of the class. “Perhaps you’d enjoy celebrating by hearing about ancient Roman culture?”

“Screw the Romans!” Dorian exclaims. He’s shouting now. “They’re dead, and _I’m alive!”_ \- he turns to the class, to which he seems fully aware exists - “Carpe diem, children! _Carpe diem!”_ He bolts out of the room on that note, practically dancing down the hallway. The entire class can hear him for at least another minute, singing and screaming at the top of his lungs.

No matter how much Solas tries to recompose himself and return to his class, he can’t keep the smile from his face.

***

That night, Solas’s dreams begin pleasantly again.

Instead, he finds himself wandering through a thicket of forest, heavily wooded with lush foliage. It feels mystical, like something out of a film he’d watch through rose tinted glasses as a child. He sees strange animals wandering around - a strange white deer, with beautiful ivory antlers, looks at him and approaches him to sniff his hand, then gallops away.

He finds a patch of earth, further in the forest, where he sits down to think for a bit. It all feels so real. When the wind blows, he thinks he can feel its cool caress against his scalp. It has to be real. It simply has to be.

Hours seem to pass, and he’s seemed to lose himself in thoughts and memories, that when he’s remembered himself, he’s greeted with a creature before him. It’s a young woman, with soft green eyes and locks of brown hair. She seems to be glowing.

“Hello,” she greets him, smiling sweetly at him. Though he does not know her, he feels safe. He feels comforted.

“You can see me,” he observes, astounded. He has yet to encounter someone who could, or at least someone who bothered to greet him at all.

“I do,” she nods her head. “I’ve seen you for a long time, Solas. I’ve wished to speak to you, but could not contact you until you came to me.”

Solas’s eyes widen. “What is your name?”

The woman’s smile widens. Her eyes are galaxies. “I have many names that I have been known by in many forms. The form you see me in now is not my own.”

He begins to feel a quick pang of panic, yet he still does not stand up. He has to know. He has to press forward, whatever the consequences. “What…” he falters, struggling with his language, “who are you?”

“I am a spirit of wisdom,” she says, her voice soft and pure as fresh fallen snow. “I have longed to see you again, old friend.”

***

Solas can barely wait to type up an e-mail to Cole the moment he wakes up. It’s 5:13 AM. The sun won’t rise for another hour, or so, but he doesn’t have the patience nor the willpower to wait that long.

 

> Subject: Dreams
> 
> From: s.wolff@fu.gmail.com
> 
> To: spiritsinhats123@aol.com
> 
> \----
> 
> Cole, what do you know about spirits?

 

To his surprise, Cole writes back almost immediately.

 

> RE Subject: Dreams
> 
> From: spiritsinhats123@aol.com
> 
> To: s.wolff@fu.gmail.com
> 
> \----
> 
> What would you like to know?

 

He can’t write quickly enough.

 

> RE RE Subject: Dreams
> 
> From: s.wolff@fu.gmail.com
> 
> To: spiritsinhats123@aol.com
> 
> \----
> 
> I think I may have met a spirit in my dreams. They said they knew me before.
> 
> Have you ever come across anything like this in your research?

 

Solas waits for another response. He taps his fingers against the desk restlessly. Ten minutes have passed until he gets another reply.

 

> RE RE RE Subject: Dreams
> 
> From: spiritsinhats123@aol.com
> 
> To: s.wolff@fu.gmail.com
> 
> \---
> 
>   
>  Solas, do you believe in past lives?


	2. Autumn

Fall comes rapidly. The leaves seem to change color over a weekend, then curl up and fall off, dead and brown the following day.

The heat has yet to go on in Solas’s classroom, much to his dismay, so he’s forced to borrow some of Dorian’s blankets and some of Varric’s warmer clothes that hang off him like an extra skin. Cole comes to see him, sometimes, before and after classes to keep him company as well as to drop off little things he may have needed: a pair of socks, some gloves, a toothbrush when his old one broke. And sometimes that meant Ellana.

Ellana comes to him Friday evening, after his last class has ended. He’s just about settled in for the night, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a cup of hot tea sitting beside his laptop. He’s reading about spirits.

She knocks on the door approximately three times in a row before entering, peeking her head through the crack she’s made.

“Mind if I come in?”

Solas is surprised to see her, but still he nods. He shakes the blanket off of his shoulders nervously, “Of course. Sit down,” he says, gesturing to one of the seats. He doesn’t believe anyone other than Cole, Dorian, or Varric has come to him after class in...well, he’s not sure how long, exactly. It’s been a while.

She frowns, looking pointedly at his little arrangement as she takes a seat. “Are you staying here?”

He looks back and forth between his desk and her, trying and failing to come up with a plausible excuse. “For a little bit, yes.”

She leans forward, interested. Her baby hairs are curlier than usual today. “Why?” She asks, concerned.

“I’m a bit...in between places at the moment,” he says, sauntering casually back to his desk. He kicks the pillow behind his desk farther. “Don’t worry about it. It’s only for a brief period of time.”

She looks unconvinced, “Solas, if you need a place to stay, I’d be happy to help you find -”

“-Don’t concern yourself, Ellana,” he says. He still feels a jolt of something strange hit his chest whenever she says his name. “I promise you, it’ll all sort itself out.”

She leans backwards, pursing her lips. “I suppose - if you say so.”

He takes in a deep breath, nodding. He tries to take a sip of tea to calm his nerves, but it does no such thing. He’s not quite sure what flavor this is. He’s wondering what Ellana’s favorite tea is. “So, what brings you here?”

She straightens her back, licking her chapped lips. “Well, Cole mentioned before that he’s been helping you sleep easier by doing this strange lucid dreaming technique?”

“Cole mentioned that?”

“Yes,” she says with a nod. “He said you were having experiences with...well, memories that aren’t yours.”

Solas mutters a curse under his breath. There was no purpose in denying such a thing, however. “As far as I can tell, yes, that’s what I’ve been experiencing.”

Solas wonders how long it will take her to react; how long it will take her to laugh, or to cringe, or to give him that sideways glare he’s gotten from countless people countless times before. He wonders how long it will take her to make up some excuse to leave, and if she’ll ever willingly peak her head through his door again. He wonders if he’s ruined one of the best things he’s had in a long time, all by virtue of being him.

But instead, her eyes light up, like two glowing crystals. A lopsided grin pulls at one corner of her mouth, her voice an awestruck exclamation. “That’s...incredible,” she breathes, unable to contain herself. The other corner of her mouth pulls up to form the brightest smile he’s ever seen, “Could you tell me exactly what you’ve seen? I mean, if you’d be willing to -”

“-Yes,” he exclaims, a bit too quickly. Still, she looks unabashedly eager to learn, to understand what he has witnessed. He’s immediately thrown off by this wonderful, unexpected treasure. “I’d love to share what I’ve seen with you.”

Ellana leans forward, radiant as a star.

***

He looks for the spirit of wisdom in his dreams for days, after their first meeting. He roams, wandering in the spot he’d first seen it, hoping he may be lucky enough to come across it again. He digs his feet into the soft earth, feeling the wind against his face - it’s all so real, so perfect. It can’t be a dream, but it is.

He wanders for what feels like years. It’s no where to be found.

***

Cole and Solas keep up a steady pace of e-mails in between classes. It’s mostly questions about dreams, spirits, and experiences Solas has had that’s he’s been lucky enough to share with both Cole and Ellana.

Cole tells him sometimes, in his dreams, he feels connected to another life. Another past, another Cole. He wonders if this could be a past live speaking through him, but he’s not sure. After what Solas has experienced, he’s not sure either, but neither of them have any idea how to pursue the notion farther.

Ellana passes by often now. Her interest in Solas’s dreams and his experiences increase each day, always up to discuss something, always inquisitive. They speak about his experiences, his detailed research, the spirit he’s met who seems to know him, and all of the places he’s been that he can only imagine are fragments of another time.

And though she’s majoring in politics, Solas believes she’d been an excellent historian. Or an interviewer, like someone on TV.

Sometimes Cullen picks her up afterwards, usually staying in the car outside, waiting to drive her home. He’s polite enough to call her, speaking quietly and politely through the receiver. Sometimes Solas can hear him through it, talking to Ellana as if she were made of silk and cotton; he doesn’t just sit there and honk, like Solas has known other students to. This time he comes up himself.

“Hello?” He calls out, peeking his head through the door. Solas and Ellana are sitting at his desk; they’re suspiciously close to one another, as Solas is showing her a text from a book about lucid dreaming he’s picked up recently. He raises a brow, “Is this a good time?”

“Cullen!” Ellana exclaims, doubling back. She distances herself from Solas, an almost guilty look on her face, “Sorry - I didn’t mean to keep you waiting. Solas was just showing me something he’d read -”

“-Solas?” Cullen repeats, astounded by the informality of her words. Ellana can’t seem to quite manage a proper retort, her lips parted, speechless.

Solas closes the book, setting it down on the desk. “Cullen, I presume?” He says, rather cheerfully, standing up to quickly stride across the room to take his hand. “It’s good to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you from Ellana.”

A blush rises to Cullen’s cheeks. “Really?” He asks, slightly skeptical.

“Absolutely. She just won’t stop talking about you,” he fibs, smiling all the while. “I’m sorry she’s late - my fault entirely. I’ll let her get back to you now, of course. Didn’t want to keep her waiting” - he sticks his hands in the pockets of his trousers, turning to see Ellana staring at him, completely bewildered - “I’ll see you another time, then.”

She nods, taking a moment to gather her thoughts. She tucks a strand of loose hair behind her ear. “Yes,” she says softly. “Another time.”

Solas forces a grin as she and Cullen make their way out of the classroom, down towards Cullen’s car. He hovers by the window, watching as the two get in and drive off, Cullen’s arm wrapped protectively around her narrow shoulders, leaving him in their wake.

Solas turns back to his desk, picks up the book, and throws it across the room in a flurry of ink and paper.

***

Before he turns to his sleep, Solas decides to check his e-mail. Amongst the flood of student inquiries and administrative messages, he finds a familiar name.

>  
> 
> Subject: Raincheck??
> 
> From: ellana.lavellan@gmail.com
> 
> To: s.wolff@fu.gmail.com
> 
> \--- 
> 
> I’m sorry about how that ended today. I’d still like to talk more. Rain check, possibly?
> 
> I’m free next Friday.
> 
> P.S. Cole gave me your e-mail. I hope you don’t mind.

 

He hardly knows what’s appropriate anymore; how he should respond, how he should feel, how he should do anything. For a moment, he takes a lesson from Varric - something he’s known to be catastrophic in the past. 

Perhaps he’s just feeling lucky today.

 

> RE Subject: Raincheck??
> 
> From: s.wolff@fu.gmail.com
> 
> To: ellana.lavellan@gmail.com
> 
> \----
> 
> Of course I don’t mind.
> 
> I’d love to talk more. Friday works for me as well.
> 
> Why don’t we go here?

 

He links a website to a local cafe, far enough off campus that he won’t see Dorian or Varric, but still public enough that his emotions won’t lead him anywhere obscene. He sends the e-mail, waiting anxiously for her reply.

 

> RE RE Subject: Raincheck??
> 
> From: ellana.lavellan@gmail.com
> 
> To: s.wolff@fu.gmail.com
> 
> \----
> 
> I’d love nothing more.

 

***

Solas waits for Ellana at the cafe at promptly 6:00 PM on Friday, just as they’d discussed.

He’s a bit embarrassed to admit that he tidied up a bit for the occasion; he’s wearing a blazer over his dress shirt, with nice shoes he’d gotten years ago from Dorian for a birthday gift but never had an opportunity to wear until now. They’re made of Italian leather. “Every man needs a special pair of shoes for that special person,” he’d said winking. He then pantomimed something suggestive with his fingers, and Solas had slapped his shoulder admonishingly.

He’s embarrassed he thought of them now.

She arrives about a minute later, pushing through the double doors, drenched in rainwater. Her flyaway strands of hair are curling and frizzy from the precipitation, her coat soaked nearly all the way through. When she and Solas lock eyes from across the cafe, both of them can’t help but burst out in laughter.

She approaches the table as he’s already standing, pulling out her chair for her. He offers her his jacket, but she declines graciously.

“I wouldn’t want you to get cold,” she insists.

“I don’t mind,” he says, shaking his head. “I don’t get cold easily.”

“Lucky for you, then,” she retorts, smiling smugly as she takes her coat off. He tries to ignore the way her shirt hugs her body.

Solas looks up at her, “So. Do you want to order something?”

“I’m fine,” she says, shaking her head. She gestures to the tea he’s already got sitting in front of him, “What are you drinking?”

“Sadly, it’s tea.”

She grins, “I’m more of a coffee person.”

“I’m more of an anything else person.”

She laughs. He could get drunk on her laughter.

“Why do you drink it, then?”

“It’s good for you,” he insists. “It strengthens your immune system. Boots metabolism.”

“You seem perfectly healthy to me.”

He raises his cup in a gesture, “Thanks to this.”

It elicits another wave of bubbling laughter from her chest. “Oh, yes. I’m sure you were on the brink of death before.”

“Absolutely,” he jests. “It was quite unpleasant. Boils everywhere.”

She pulls her hair out of her face, wet curls slipping away from her fingers as she shakes her head in amusement. “So - where exactly did we leave off before?

He smiles softly, “Jumping right into it, are we?”

“Well, that’s why we’re here, right?”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Unless this is all some grand plot to get in my good graces,” she suggests, chuckling. Her laugh warms him from the center of his being. “In that case, you could buy me a fruit bouquet.”

“Duly noted.”

Ellana tries to smooth out one of her hairs, to no avail. She looks at him with those unnervingly big, blue eyes. “So, more pressingly - if there is anything more pressing than fruit bouquets, I mean -”

“-Which, clearly, there’s not,” Solas jokes. He’s trying. Trying feels good.

She breaks out into a goofy grin, “Actually, I have to tell you something, Solas,” she says suddenly, preceded by a deep breath. “I wanted to tell you how much I’ve valued our time together.”

Solas is taken aback. A bit too quickly, he responds to the same rapid beat as his heart, “I have, too.”

“I just…” she sighs, her fingers tightening as her knuckles bleed white. “I wouldn’t want to jeopardize my relationship with Cullen.”

Solas blushes at the insinuation. “...Why would that happen?”

“Well,” she sighs. She fumbles over her words, chewing at her lip, “I think he may believe there’s something else going on.”

Solas’s nostrils flare. His grip on his seat tightens. “Something else?”

Ellana’s face is almost as red as he imagines his is. She laughs, shaking her head, “Do I have to spell it out?”

“It’d help,” Solas jests.

She smirks, nudging him with her elbow playfully. “You’re ridiculous.”

He grins, shaking his head and looking down at the table, studying the grooves and curves in the wood to distract himself from studying the hard lines of her jaw, the rainwater dripping down her cheek. He wants to smear it with his thumb, feel the hot skin under a cool layer of ice, hardened over.

“You have nothing to fear,” he says with a nod. He looks at her with a distant, almost clinical expression, “I’d actually never thought of that. I am sorry Cullen misread the situation.”

Ellana’s eyes widen for a second before she forces a smile, nodding falsely in response, “Thank you for understanding.”

“Of course. No thanks are required,” he insists meely, eyes shifting to his nervous fingers.

“All right,” she says in affirmation.

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

“Agreed.”

“Wonderful.”

“Without a doubt.”

“Indeed.”

“...Yep.”

Solas’s jaw tightens, his fingers itching to reach out, trying so desperately to rein them in. Still, he’s not able to resist looking up to meet her gaze. She’s already staring at him. Her eyes are electric.

He can’t stop himself from reaching across the table, wiping the rainwater from her cheek.

***

It’s still raining. Her touches are hot against his cold skin, feverishly touching his face, down to his neck. Every sense feels heightened, every cell more alive as his lips press against hers, his fingers knotting through her braided hair. He drinks her in, savoring every second. She tastes like hot chocolate, and it’s so much better than the bitter tea he’s been stomaching for months on end.

They’re in the car park of the cafe. It’s completely deserted, except for them. He doesn’t know precisely how they got here, except that it was instantaneous; that their eyes collided right there, at the right moment, both thinking the precise same thing. His finger on hot skin, wiping away the water, Ellana grabbing his arm, pulling him outside to the far back of the lot. 

And now here they are, fingers and limbs feverish, hungry for each other’s lips. Solas can no longer deny the dull, throbbing pain in his chest the last few months; the ache, the feeling of emptiness every time he could catch fleeting glimpses of Ellana. Cole was absolutely right - he was incomplete, and here, being with Ellana, he feels like he’s found his missing part. Like it’s always meant to be like this.

They’d go inside Ellana’s car and seek refuge, if that didn’t mean they’d need to separate for more than a single moment. Ellana’s hair is soaked, Solas’s clothes drenched all the way through, but it doesn’t matter. There’s a crack of lightning through the sky; it makes Ellana just nearly pull away. Solas knowns it’s not right, but still, he quickly tugs at her lip with his teeth, pulling her back in. She feels a ripple of pleasure throughout her body, her nails sinking into the back of his neck. It gives him goosebumps.

There are a few moments of doubt. Ellana muttering “what about Cullen?” and Solas whispering “but you’re so young” and the ever pressing thought of his position at the school as a professor, but nothing ever seemed so strong as to stop them - at least in the moment.

“My car,” Ellana whimpers for a moment, in between bated breaths. Solas moves to her neck, leaving a trail of hot kisses across her throat. Her nails nearly pierce the skin. She feels her knees buckle. He might have to carry her. He might want to. She says again, “My car. Now.”

Solas gives in; parts with her for just a moment to nod. In a flurry of stumbling hands hastily unlocking doors and wet layers of clothing shedding like skin, the two eventually fall into the back seat of her car, their coats discarded to the floor. There’s hardly enough room for the two of them in her tiny, four seater, but she manages still to sling a leg over his waist, straddling him as the two exchange feverish kisses.

He rakes his fingers through her hair, pulling her closer to him. For a moment, she pulls away to readjust herself. And he looks at her: her hair is down for the first time ever, rippling down to the small of her back in soft, wet curls; her makeup is smudging, her freckles pronounced underneath the guise of blush. Their eyes lock, her thumb absentmindedly reaching to wipe away a drop of rainwater on his cheek.

“You are so beautiful,” he mutters, his voice but a whisper, completely hypnotized by her. Her thumb lingers.

She smiles warmly, yet doesn’t say a word. She leans forward, presses her lips to his, gently - but this time, he simply can’t find it in himself to return it. Of course, he wants to; more than anything, he wants to. But can he really, at this time, in this world?

“Solas,” she whispers, quizzical. She’s an inch away, their noses touching side by side. Her lips graze his, their heavy breaths intertwined. She strokes the side of his face with her thumb, her brows furrowed in a perplexed expression, “What’s wrong?”

“I am sorry,” he says, his voice tight, his eyes pleading. His lips can hardly form the words he wishes so badly he couldn’t say. But how could he tell himself he loved her, then betray himself so severely? The facts and numbers didn’t add up, and without them, he wasn’t anything at all. “I distracted you. It won’t happen again.”

She blinks, mouth left nearly hanging open. He slides out from underneath her effortlessly, her body paralyzed. She only reaches out a hand to graze him before he moves away, “Solas…”

“Please, Ellana,” be begs, only shaking his head, biting back the desire to throw himself at her and forget himself. He takes a shaking breath, “You have a rare and marvelous spirit,” he says, his tongue bitter, like unsweetened tea in his mouth. “In another world…”

She’s hopeless, desperate, bare faced and embarrassed. Her hair falls around her face, a beauty he’s never seen before, and she is, she is so beautiful. He sees wet tears in her eyes, but perhaps it’s just the rainwater. “Why not this one?”

He swallows himself. The rain is so loud outside, deafening, drowning out even his own thoughts. “I can’t,” he says. He really can’t. He really shouldn’t. He wishes he could. “I’m sorry.”

A tear falls down her face. It’s not rainwater.

And just like that, he’s gone.

***

Solas wonders, fleetingly, if he’s known Ellana in another life. Known her touches, her kisses, the taste of her lips. He wonders if that’s why he feels like he’s seen her before - like he’s known her before.

He’s not sure. Perhaps, if he were, he’d be able to justify his feelings; perhaps he’s just seeking out something to do that for him.

Either way, that night, after the sun has long since set, long after the heat’s gone off in his freezing, cramped little classroom, he falls asleep with his fingers brushing his lips, savoring the way she tasted. He’s still wearing his clothes; they haven’t dried yet. He hopes they never do.

***

He’s avoided checking his e-mail for a few days. He knows it’s not wise, but he does it in spite of his better judgement. However, after the third or fourth day, he simply can’t resist it anymore. 

There are at least seven from her. He starts with the first, from an hour after the incident.

 

> Subject: No Subject
> 
> From: ellana.lavellan@gmail.com
> 
> To: s.wolff@fu.gmail.com
> 
> \--- 
> 
> We need to talk about what happened.

 

He takes a deep breath and replies, his fingers shaking against the keys.

 

> RE Subject: No subject
> 
> From: s.wolff@fu.gmail.com
> 
> To: ellana.lavellan@gmail.com
> 
> \----
> 
> I’m afraid that wouldn’t be appropriate.

 

He’s about to close his laptop, but the sound of a new message reins him in. He opens her reply. It’s short and simple, and cuts at his heart like a knife.

 

> You really don’t let anybody see under that polite mask you wear, do you?

 

He stares at the message for longer than he wishes. He types out a long reply, one that he hopes can suffice, one he hopes can atone for the pain he’s caused them both. But before he can click send, he deletes it. He deletes it all.

 

> You saw more than most.

 

***

Solas walks by Sera in the hallway later that week. Their shoulders collide with a colossal force on her end that sends Solas’s books flying to the floor. She turns around, eyes narrowed, her mouth pointed into a grimace.

“Oops. Didn’t see you there, teach,” she says, hardly remorseful. She cocks a brow smartly, pursing her lips, “Almost like you’re invisible.”

***

Dorian’s dragged Solas out into the bitter November air to watch football; really, though, it’s to properly meet his boyfriend.

Dorian had said they call him “Iron Bull,” and he can see why. He’s got to be at least 6 ‘6, with a body built like an SUV, and a visible smug grin on his face from at ten yards away. He’s yelling at a few of the team members, who are doing drills, running up and down the field around cones. Solas can see Cullen in the distance, at the opposite end of the field, cooling down on the bench, a towel draped around his neck as a few players crowd around him, laughing. He looks away.

“Come on, you pussies!” Iron Bull hollers, his voice a booming American baritone, echoing largely throughout the field. Dorian grins as he and Solas approach, watching the spectacle eagerly, “I should’ve stayed in America and coached American football. You fucking pansies can’t handle a few grass stains.”

Dorian slow claps, and almost instantly, Iron Bull turns at the sound, his eyes lighting up when he sees him standing there. Quickly, he looks back at his panting players, clapping his hands, “Five minute break. You can all go help Lady Rutherford with his perm,” he insists, waving them away with a hand.

They all nod in unison and eagerly rush in the other direction, away from the coach, who’s steadily working his way towards Dorian. He shamelessly embraces him in a hug, placing a heavy kiss on his lips. The size proportions are a mystery to Solas, who wonders how Iron Bull hasn’t swallowed Dorian whole by now. He stands by awkwardly, hands at his sides, waiting for the two to conclude their business.

“Bull,” Dorian says with a grin as the two pull away. His lips are bright scarlet from the sheer pressure, and he reaches a hand to graze them gently, “I’d like to introduce you to my very good friend, Solas.”

He looks at Solas eagerly, his eyes widening as he takes him in a handshake. His hand is twice the size of Solas’s and more than twice as powerful, nearly breaking every bone when he rushes to shake it, “Solas!” He exclaims, “I’ve heard so much about you from Dorian.”

Solas smiles wryly, glancing at his friend, “Good things, I hope.”

“Mostly good,” Bull shrugs. He glances at Dorian smugly, “Dorian saves most of the bad things for later.”

Solas’s eyes widen.

“Hey - why don’t we all go out for a drink? Get to know each other?” He exclaims, slamming an excited hand on Solas’s back, nearly toppling him over. “We all deserve a break, don’t we?”

“Don’t you have to finish practice?” Solas asks, straightening his spine, wondering for a moment if it’s perhaps disconnected.

Iron Bull scoffs, shaking his head. “Fuck practice,” he quips. “These kids can’t tell their feet from their ass, which would explain why they’re always falling on both” - he turns around for a moment, cupping his hands over his mouth and shouting - “Practice is cancelled! Leave me alone!”

Dorian turns to Solas as Bull continues to yell, shouting expletives down the field in a string of incoherent shouting. His grin is as bright as Solas has ever seen, clasping his hands together in admiration, “Isn’t he great?”

***

Dorian, Solas, and Iron Bull find themselves at the bar later that night. Solas isn’t usually a drinker, but ever since his night at Varric’s, he’s been able to stomach the taste more and more. And now certainly was the time to do it.

“Solas,” Dorian says, nudging his friend with his elbow. Solas looks up, having been caught in a reverie. He blinks at him, pupils dilated. “What’s going on? You haven’t said a word all night.”

“Your friend sure knows how to knock ‘em back,” Bull comments, taking a heavy swig of the dark amber liquid, spilling out of his cup. His laughter fills the entire room.

Solas looks at the bottom of his glass, shaking his head, “If I told you, you’d laugh.”

Dorian smirks, “That’s probably true. But it’s no reason you shouldn’t trust me.”

He sighs, looking up at his kind, dark eyes. He knows he shouldn’t; he knows he should push the thought of it out of his mind. Her lips, her hair, her rain slicked skin rubbing against him -

“-I kissed Ellana,” he blurts out suddenly, hardly in control of his own tongue. He can’t even look at Dorian, so he takes another swig of alcohol instead. He’s not quite sure what’s in it, but it’s doing its job.

Dorian looks at him, jaw hung wide open. He claps his hands together, his face erupting in a smile, “That’s marvelous news!” He exclaims, taking his shoulders and shaking him. “Solas, you dog. I just knew you had it in you! I thought those books would work. Tell me, please - it wasn’t just a peck, wasn’t? I’d be so dreadfully disappointed in you.”

Solas shakes his head, sighing into the top of his cup, “Oh,” he mutters, “far from it.”

Dorian’s smile grows even wider, “Just. Marvelous!”

Iron Bull’s eyes shift to Solas, who looks like a cranky child, staring into an empty juice cup. He nudges Dorian, “What’s up with baldy?

Dorian sighs, smiling wistfully. “Love. _Amor,”_ he explains. When Bull still looks perplexed, he gestures to Solas, “Solas is in love, but he’s got this thing where he can never be happy. It oftentimes puts him in quite a predicament.”

“You’re in love?” Bull asks, eyes wide with shock. Solas refuses to look up, but he continues without a thought, “Then what could be wrong?”

“Everything,” Solas snaps. “Everything is wrong.”

“Name it, then,” Dorian insists, his voice surprisingly strict. Solas looks at him with wide, glassy eyes, a rim of haze around Dorian’s face like looking through an old spyglass. “One bad thing that could actually happen. Just one thing that’s actually keeping you apart..”

Solas stops himself, eyes darting back to his drink. He wishes the bartender would hurry up and fill it, but he doesn’t quite feel like asking himself. He wishes he’d just know.

“I think I got one,” Bull pipes in, holding his drink in the air, as if expecting someone to clink it. He grins, “It’s name is Solas.”

Dorian and Bull laugh. Solas just watches the drink, as if doing that would make anything at all happen.


	3. Winter

Solas sees Ellana for the first time in weeks once the leaves have all fallen, leaving a layer of fresh snow on the ground. Her rainwater tears have all but dried, leaving her eyes glassy and guarded when he sees her, sauntering briskly across the courtyard, bundled up from her neck to her feet. He remembers the sun kissing her freckles, the light sunburn kissing her bare shoulders in the late August sun, like a promise to always be there. That it’d always stay.

Not all things did.

They’ve made eye contact on a few occasions. However, after her persistence over e-mail had died down, she’d stopped making much of an effort to speak reason with him. It’s what he told himself he wanted - it’s what they both needed, he’d said, over and over into the solitude of his own empty classroom until it became truth. But with Dorian constantly preoccupied with his new occupation, Varric with his book, and Cole off to do God knows what, Solas constantly finds the desk across his chair empty. And he finds himself growing lonelier and lonelier by the day, each moment spent without Ellana a moment wasted.

He wishes he could speak out to her - reassure her that it’s not her fault. But that would only be interfering with her coping process, and he didn’t want to assume he’d even made such an impact. Perhaps she was fine after all - perhaps all she needed was to collect herself from whatever childish dream she’d deluded herself into believing, spent a few moments with Cullen and the rest of her real world to resume her day. He wishes it was that. He wishes it wasn’t. He doesn’t know what he wants; not anymore.

He sees her one day when he’s dropping off something for Dr. Montilyet - he’d forgotten it was her Politics class, and he marches in while the students are settling down for the class, handing the Professor a stack of photocopied textbook pages. She’s thanking him, rambling off about something when his eyes meet hers. She’s glaring daggers at him, with those blue eyes that once met his so softly, so gently. Now water’s turned to ice, sharp at the edges like a blade, ready to strike him at his weakest.

“...Solas? Does that sound reasonable?”

Solas collects himself, turning to her, still seeing stars. “I...I’m sorry?”

“I’ll return these to you on Monday. Is that good?”

“Oh, yes, of course. Whenever you can, Professor,” he insists, thinking nothing of it.

She only nods and smiles in response, headed back towards her desk. When he glances back at Ellana, she’s scribbling away in her notes, aggressively trying not to meet his gaze. He lingers in the doorway for a bit, not realizing he’s drawing attention.

“Professor?” Dr. Montilyet calls, noticing his hesitation. “Was that all?”

Solas forgets himself, flushing. He nods at her, halfway gone already. “Y-Yes. I am sorry for wasting your time.”

He’s gone before she can tell him otherwise.

***

It’s past ten o’clock when Ellana finally finds him in his classroom, nose buried in his computer. He’s done a good job of avoiding her, after their awkward encounter, but every aching bone in her body has risen to the surface, livid and ready to confront what’s been boiling inside her for weeks.

She doesn’t bother to knock, she just barges in. She looks furious at him. Solas is too.

“You,” she says, marching towards him, jutting a finger at him so aggressively it nearly knocks him backwards. “You have some explaining to do.”

Solas frowns, pressing his lips into a hard line. He looks back at his computer, “I’m afraid that will have to wait -”

She closes his laptop, taking it and placing it aggressively at the side of his desk, far away from his reach. He looks at her, eyes wide; hers are angry, ferocious, scorned. But they are also sad.

“Ellana,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Please, I-”

“What is your problem?”

He grimaces, looking away. “This isn’t right.”

“What isn’t right?” She asks bitterly, hands on her hips. “You kissing me in the middle of a parking lot or you ditching me three minutes later with no explanation of why? And then you just try to act like everything’s normal? Like nothing ever happened?”

“Things are better that way,” he says, his throat tight. “It’s airtight. It’s simple.”

“It’s not airtight,” she denies. “And you still haven’t told me why!”

He only shakes his head. “There are a million reasons why it can’t work,” he says stubbornly. “In another world-”

“Screw your other world,” Ellana snaps, biting her teeth together. She’s on the verge of tears. He’s never seen anyone so worked up, let alone over him. “I don’t want it. I want this one.”

Solas stops for a second to think, his breathing heavy, eyes focused on her. The world is quiet except for the sounds of her chest moving up and down. Her eyes are red, her face paler than usual. She looks tired, so tired. It must be how he looks, too.

She clears her throat, “I ended things with Cullen,” she says abruptly.

Solas’s eyes widen, his jaw nearly falling to the floor. He stands up, hands instinctively reaching out towards her, “Ellana. Why did you do that?”

She shakes her head, her voice quivering. She looks at him, smiling sadly, like the grin of a woman stranded ashore. “Because I don’t love him,” she says, throwing her hands up in the air helplessly, surrendering. “Because this entire time, I’ve not been able to look him in the eyes and tell him that directly. Because every time I kiss him, every time we’re together, I’m not thinking of him, I’m thinking of -”

“-Ellana, please,” Solas murmurs. His body is moving towards her, but his voice his pulling him away, his mind, his logic, the facts and numbers are pleading with him to appeal to reason. Cause and effect. He knows better. He knows so much better. “This is...we are…”

Without warning, she takes his hand. Her skin is so warm; her hands are soft, her fingers long and nimble, just able to fit through the cracks of his. A missing puzzle piece. Complete, at last. At last.

“Tell me you don’t care,” she whispers. It sounds like a cry into the heavens in his quiet classroom. Her fingers tighten; palms sweaty, nervous, hopeful.

He bites back his pride. He feels himself dissolving, his defences wearing down, chipping away like rusted armor. He looks at her, eyes reflecting his own. Moonlight makes her hair look white. It’s beautiful; she is so beautiful.

“I can’t do that,” he confesses, shaking his head, eyebrows curved into a look of defeated resignation.

She frowns stubbornly, her hands trailing upwards to cup his face. He melts into her touch, like coming home. “Solas,” she murmurs. His body tightens the way she says that. He curses the moment he let her use his name. “Let me in.”

His eyes are closed, their noses just touching. He can feel her breath against him, like before, like the kiss. “I...It would be kinder in the long run,” he begins to speak; he’s written an entire letter to her in his mind a thousand times, outlying the details, cushioning his apology as best as he could, signing it in perfect longhand, sealing it away with a casual, platonic handshake. But she’s so close; she’s so close, and she smells like coffee and honey, like the sweet fragrance of her shampoo. Her breath is warm and inviting, her nose fitting against his perfectly. His matching puzzle piece. His hands reach out to touch her, “I…I...”

She reaches her hands around his neck, digging her fingernails into him. He might explode. For a moment, he thinks he has.

“Fuck it.”

In a single moment, his lips collide with Ellana’s, the gravitational force so massive he thinks it’s knocked them both off of their axises. They’re floating in space, aimless, floating without any purpose other than to tether themselves to one another. His hands rake through her hair, freeing her of her braid. He grabs her thighs and hoists them up to place her on his desk.

“Not here,” she murmurs, just as Solas is reaching underneath her shirt, hands scurrying to free her of her bra. She pulls away, a mischievous look on her face. He wasn’t aware she was wearing lipstick, but now it’s smudged across her cheek. It’s on his lips, too; it tastes fruity. She grabs him by the collar of his shirt, “My apartment is five minutes away.”

***

Ellana’s never driven so recklessly.

She bullets through the busy streets, running stop signs and cutting corners whenever possible. She can’t help it, because even though Solas’s responsible adult instincts have kicked in, yelling and shouting expletives at her every time she almost hits something, she only has her mind on one thing. And even if his heart’s about to give out because of her risky driving, Solas does too.

Once she parks the car underneath the apartment complex, they’re both rushing out, fingers groping all the way up. Once they’re in the elevator, Solas seizes the moment and takes her body in his hands, pressing her against the walls. His fingers are groping at the buttons on her shirt, trying hastily to undo them, his mind a mess of contradictions. The elevator dings. They’re at Ellana’s floor, and she slides out from under him, pulling him along.

Solas sucks on her neck, humming gently onto her skin as she looks for the key on her keyring. Her vision nearly goes fuzzy, unable to think properly as Solas works, his hands working their way up the front of her shirt. Her nipples are hard through the thin fabric of her bra, and he toys gently at them, hitching her breath with every graceful movement. Finally, she finds the key, throwing the door open with a crash.

Solas pushes them both inside, closing the door behind him. They slide out of their overcoats, abandoning them at the entrance. He hardly gets a chance to scan the apartment, but he notices instantly how small and cleanly it is. He would expect nothing less; there’s not a spot of clutter or garbage on the floor, allowing him to move with ease towards the bed in the center.

“Lie down,” he growls against her lips. She smiles, complying happily.

Still fully clothed, she pulls herself to the top of her bed, chin tilted upwards. Her hair falls over her like a waterfall, twisting and curling down her sides messily. She looks positively regal, bathed in the light of the moon, filtering through her windows like strands of silver. He savors her for a moment before he crawls on top of her, working to finally undo her trousers, sliding her out of them with a small degree of difficulty. She helps him, bending her legs to fit the curves.

Before she allows him to continue, she pulls him forward, working on undressing him. She helps him fumble at the buttons of his dress shirt, yanking him out of it, and then his trousers, which slide off his legs easily, his belt hitting the floor with a loud clink. She smirks at the sight, running a finger along his jaw.

“Should’ve known you were a briefs guy.”

He grins, reaching up to place a sloppy kiss on her mouth. “Depends on the day,” he says, his fingers working on her shirt, now. It comes off quickly as she helps him, leaving her stomach and legs bare, exposed against the moonlight. He’s shocked to see a pattern of violet spirals on the side of her ribcage, just below her left breast. He smirks and traces it with his finger, “I didn’t know you had a tattoo.”

She scoffs, putting an embarrassed hand over her face. “I got it a few years ago when I was drunk,” she says with a sigh. She pulls his chin to look at her, their lips just hovering over one another's. “It’s supposed to symbolize the gods, or something. At least that’s what I was told at 3AM by the sketchy tattoo artist.”

He looks curious, raising a brow. “Which gods?”

She laughs, shaking her head, “Hell if I know,” she drawls lazily, kissing him.

In a moment in between, he smiles against her mouth, “If you want, I’d go with you to get them removed. I know a place,” he says with a smile. His low baritone almost vibrates off her lips, “Although, I rather like it.”

“Oooh,” she laughs. “You ‘know a place.’ Tatted up, are we?” - she looks up and down his body, exposed and bare - “Where is it? Your arse?” She wonders, her hands lingering down the curve of his spine to reach his bottom.

He chuckles, “You’ll find out, won’t you?”

“Oh, I intend to.”

Solas grins and places a drunken kiss on her chest, moving down her stomach until he’s reached her pelvis. He sucks along her hipbones, drawing his tongue in idle circles as she hugs his scalp with her hands, making dents with her nails. Gingerly, he removes her underwear, throwing it to the side as he kisses her clit, taking it between his lips. She lets out a muffled cry, humming his name into the ceiling. He remembers reading in one of Dorian’s books that women had different turn ons; it was important to spend time touching every part of the body, patiently listening to what made each person tick.

For Ellana, she goes crazy when he tickles the backs of her knees.

He works her slowly, too slowly for her liking, but it drags on in a way she’s never experienced before. With Cullen, it was never intimate on her end, always something quick and fast. Purely physical; but with Solas, it feels real. He feels real. She cranes her neck back on the pillow, biting her lip as she feels pleasure ripple through her, the taste of blood on her tongue.

Before long, Solas is picking up speed, and she’s nothing but a quivering mess at his disposal. She moans, buckles her legs, and lets out the occasional shriek; she’s sure she’s woken up a neighbor or two by now, but she doesn’t care. And neither does he, which is evident in his approach. Solas has never half-assed anything in his life; always goes into his work, guns blazing, focused, and ready to accept whatever challenges come his way - why should his approach to sex be any different?

Just as she’s reached the brink of climax, however, he pulls away, crawling back up to meet her lips. She’s sweating bullets, her baby hairs curling against her head. He remembers the first time he saw her, standing there, in her track uniform, and he whispers to her just how beautiful she is.

She smiles against his lips, her eyelids heavy, fluttering like butterfly wings, “I have condoms.”

“Where?” He asks. His voice is lower, richer and heavier than usual, and it pushes Ellana to the edge.

She gestures to the nightstand, and instantly he’s there, his movements quick and agile. Every move of his finger looks almost godlike, infallible in every way. She traces his spine with her fingernail as he readies himself, feeling a rush of heat bolt through him upon her touch. It’s not long before he’s back on top of her, bare naked, running his hands over her body, planting a trail of kisses along her neck and face.

“Are you sure?” He asks, doubtful. He’s almost begging.

She nods, holding his neck for support. She doesn’t need to say a word - she couldn’t even if she wanted to; she feels as if all of the air had been sucked clean from her lungs - and he knows. He watches her as first he delves into her, watching the look of shock tear through her eyes, quickly replaced by pleasure. She parts her lips, moaning as her head rolls back, allowing Solas to dip forward and place hot kisses down her neck and to her chest.

After a moment, Ellana impatiently brings herself to flip Solas over. He’s taken aback by the act, of course, but certainly not her forwardness. He studies her carefully as she presses him back onto the bed with her skilled fingers, riding him slowly, quickly picking up speed. He watches her, mesmerized. The world feels hazy; foggy, and she is the light that guides him out.

They both come at the same time, hands laced together as Ellana falls to his side. They’re panting, a mess of sweat and sticky heat, fingers left dangling for far too long and lingering glances. Solas tosses the condom aside as she pulls herself onto his chest, resting her head. He combs through her hair with his hand, studying her heavy breathing like an ancient relic.

“You lied,” Ellana says suddenly, her voice verging on smug.

Solas looks down at her, confused, “What?”

She placed her chin on his chest, looking up at him with a grin. She brushes his cheek with her fingers almost instinctively, “There’s no tattoo on your arse.”

His grin spreads across his face, his laughter erupting so heavily that his head falls back on the pillow. He leans forward and pecks her nose softly, “There’s still time.”

***

That night, he dreams. He dreams himself in a wooded area, much like ones he’s seen before. Only this time, fresh fallen snow dots the landscape, still falling on his thinly clothed shoulders. He wanders a bit aimlessly, searching for some sense of purpose.

Almost without cause, he stops by a small creek to sip some water, wetting his dry lips with his tongue. He cups the water in his hand, bending forward to take a drink when he catches his reflection in the water; only, it is not the same man he knows as himself. In fact, it is not a man at all. He sees a wolf, teeth bared, yellow eyes staring back at him hungrily.

He staggers backwards, panting heavily, his palms stinging with the hot iciness of the snow. He draws in a shaking breath, looking upwards to see a figure that was not previously there before.

It is Ellana, only not the one he knows; she’s frailer, with a heavier sense of tired urgency about her. There’s a sense that only he can detect that insists that it’s simply not his Ellana; her hair is done the same way, her eyes the same shade of shocking ice blue. But she’s dressed in a hunter’s clothing, holding two unsheathed blades at her side. She’s looking at him, lips pointed downwards into a scowl. She spits foreign words at him that he does not understand.

_“Banal’abelas, banal’vhenan.”_

It is her voice, but it is not. It is him, but it’s not him. This isn’t real, but how could it not be?

And suddenly, Ellana is gone, and the world’s turned to black. To nothingness.

***

He wakes up in a cool sweat, frantically pawing at the sheets. It takes a moment to realize where he is, on the other side of town, in Ellana’s bed, her narrow body draped over him. He looks down at her; still sleeping, serene, a glowing halo of moonlight above her hair.

And she snores. Loudly.

He smiles.

He takes a deep breath, trying to push the thoughts from his head. He closes his eyes, comforted by the feeling of her breathing against his chest, always a constant. It tethers him to the ground, when otherwise he fears he may float away. Slowly, he falls back into a slumber, hoping the next dreams to come would not be as cruel.

***

When she awakens, he’s already up.

The moment her eyes open, he comes back in through the door, two hot cups of tea and coffee in one hand, a bag from her favorite cafe in the other. She rubs her eyes incredulously, her eyesight still hazy as he sits down at the foot of the bed, bending over to take her lips with his.

She grins into the kiss. Solas pulls away, kisses each freckle on her face, putting the coffee in her hand. She glances at him, grinning wildly, “What is all this?”

“I thought you’d like breakfast,” he says simply, offering her the bag. She opens it to see two buttered croissants, still piping hot. “I read...well, I mean, I heard it was customary to do such a thing after...well, that.”

She grins, setting the coffee and breakfast down, crawling naked onto his lap, straddling his waist. His hands found the small of her back, her fingers brushing the back of his neck. She nips at his ear, “That,” she whispers, just to hear the sound of it. It sends a wave of shivers down his spine. “That was amazing.”

“Amazing would be an understatement,” he breathes, fighting his fingers’ urge to rip off what little clothing she has on. “A more suitable word would be...transcendent. Otherworldly. Unprecedented. Perfect.”

She giggles, glancing over the breakfast and then him, her fingers raking down the front of his chest, clunky and heavy with his overcoat. “Well. You certainly did your research.”

A flush rises to his cheeks, even now. “You know me.”

She does; she does know him. And he silently - reluctantly so - makes a mental note to thank Dorian when she pushes him onto the bed, fingers restlessly waking up again.

***

The day after, Solas is explaining a particularly difficult chapter of the new textbook to Cole. Cole looks up at him halfway through his lecture, unable to break his gaze away. There’s something distinctly different about him, Cole decides. His eyes are bright, awake. There are no traces of demons haunting the corners of his thoughts. He is a blank canvas; a slate washed clean. He is practically glowing.

“Solas,” he says, his voice a melody. “You’re so happy.”

Solas blinks, looking up in shock. There was no way - how could he know -

“Ellana’s happy too,” Cole goes on, smiling. “She hasn’t been like this in a long time. Neither have you. You need each other. You’re two halves of the same whole, two sides of the same coin. A puzzle, finally complete.”

Solas doesn’t bother to ask. Instead, he just nods, putting his hand on Cole’s shoulder, “Thank you, Cole,” he says softly. “For everything.”

“All I ever wanted to do was help.” His smile is infectious.

“You did, Cole. More than anyone else.”

“I’m glad,” he says. “I am so, so glad.”

***

Dorian notices after a while that he’s not going back to his classroom as often. When he finally asks him why, Solas doesn’t have a straight answer. He tries to fabricate some sort of lie; he’s found a new lease, his old land lord took him back. Dorian doesn’t buy any of it.

“You’re with her,” Dorian speculates, a small grin forming at his lips. “You’re with Ellana, aren’t you?”

Solas tries to muffle his smile. He shakes his head, “I’m not saying anything.”

Dorian only crosses his arms, pleased. “I knew you’d take my advice,” he says in a melodic sing-song, pivoting on his heel and walking towards his car on the way home. His hips sway with him. “They always do!”

***

Walking inside Ellana’s apartment after a long day feels like coming home. He feels like if even for a moment, he can pretend that they’re in a normal, healthy relationship. She’s just gotten home, put dinner on the stove, and he’s only now getting in, ready to sit down and settle in for the night.

He hears the pitter patter of the water in the shower from the other room. His lips twitch as an idea comes to the forefront, and he heads to the bathroom, shedding the layers of his clothing like skin. He kicks off his shoes, lets his blazer fall off, loosens his tie, leaving a trail of himself all the way to the lou, the water getting louder and louder with every step. She’s humming something; it’s so beautiful, he’s almost tempted to stop and listen. Not quite, though.

Quickly, he slides into the bathroom, stripping himself of his last layers. The air is thick with steam, but he can make out Ellana’s perfect figure through the glass of the shower. Without so much as announcing himself, he opens the door, interrupting her mid thought.

She nearly jumps when she sees him, but the shock is short lived, turned to excitement before long. Her hair looks a darker blonde, heavy with water, falling in ringlets to the dimples of her lower back. He smiles, grabbing her waist and pressing her against the cold wall, forcing her teeth together to let out a small moan.

“It’s good to see you,” she murmurs, as Solas begins to suck gently on her collarbones, leaving a trail of lazy kisses to her taut nipple. She digs her nails into his skin. Her vision is foggy. “I didn’t catch you in the courtyard today.”

“I was speaking with Cole about an exam,” he says idly, more preoccupied with other things.

She smiles, toying with him. “I didn’t see Cole today either. How is he?”

He pulls away for a moment, eyes grazing hers. “I really don’t want to talk about Cole right now.”

She shrugs, hitching a leg around his waist, feeling his erection press into her hipbone. She cocks a smile, “Fair enough.”

Solas kisses her, hard. They nearly topple to the shower floor.

***

Solas is running his fingers through her wet, knotty hair. She’s in a robe, asleep on his lap. He can see the sun setting from her her bed through the window.

He closes his eyes. He’s happy. He’s complete.

***

The next time Solas is at Varric’s apartment, it’s tidied up immensely. He attributes it to Bianca.

“She’s been here?” Solas asks, somewhat shocked.

Varric gets them both two sodas. He’s decided to keep the liquor in the cabinet tonight. He slides one to him across the island counter, Solas easily catching it in his hand. “A few times, yes,” he says softly. Solas gives him a look, the kind you could only imagine from a comment like that. “Don’t stare at me like that, Chuckles. You’re no saint either” - Solas’s jaw tightens, a look of surprise evident in his eyes - “Please. You think Dorian’s gonna keep a secret like that to himself?”

“I suppose you’re right,” he says sighing, opening the can. It sizzles, and the bubbles dance across his tongue. “So. You and Bianca?”

“I know it’s not fair. I know I’m a hypocrite. I know I said marriage is a line you don’t cross” -he shrugs his shoulders- “but fuck it. Neither is love.”

“You love her?”

“Hell yes I love her,” Varric affirms, taking a long drink from his can. He winces at the sweetness. He raises a brow at Solas from across the table, “Do you love Ellana?”

He’s caught off-guard by the question. He thinks about it for a moment; he thinks about her hair, drying in the sunlight. He thinks about her laugh, the way her nose crinkles. He thinks about her freckles, her stupid tattoo, the way he thinks he’s known her for a thousand years and the way he wants to know her for a thousand more.

He swallows some soda. It’s fills him with bubbles, floating to the top.

“Yes,” he breathes. It feels like the world’s been lifted off him. “Yes, I love her. I love her dearly.”

Varric smiles, setting his soda down. For a moment, he disappears, leaving Solas alone in the kitchen - when he returns, he’s holding a manuscript. He drops it on the countertop.

Solas looks up at him, “Varric, is this? -”

“My book,” Varric confirms, nodding. “Yeah, it is. I want you to be the first to read it.”

“Me?” Solas asks, shocked. He frowns - grateful, yet confused. “Why me?”

Varric sighs, sitting down. “For someone who thinks he’s so smart, you can be a real dumb ass, you know that, Chuckles?”

He only stares at him.

“You’re my friend, plain and simple,” Varric states plainly. “Sometimes, you’re my only one. And I’m assuming the same can be said for you, too. I value your opinion, okay? And now that you’re finally getting some action, maybe you can read a love story without feeling completely sexually deprived” - he crosses his arms across his chest stubbornly - “All right?”

“All right,” Solas agrees.

Solas opens it, Varric watching him protectively over his shoulder. He sighs, "I think I'm going to call it... _Swords & Shields. _Does that sound too much like a Medieval porno?"

"I think it sounds lovely."

"Well," Varric laughs, "then that's good enough for me."

Solas smiles for the rest of the night.

***

“Look,” Sera starts, arms crossed, tapping her foot almost impatiently as she waits for the words to leave her mouth. “I don’t know how to say this...but I’m...well, I guess I’m…”

Solas’s lips quirk, smirking. “Sorry?”

She grins in his place, “Apology accepted.”

“Funny, Sera. Very funny.”

“I know,” she says smugly, rigidly stubborn. The sly grin on her face slowly dissolves away, however, the longer the silence continues. She frowns, appearing almost shameful, “Look - Ellana likes you. I like you, even if you don’t like me. Way I see it, that’s worth somethin.’”

He nods curtly, “I appreciate that.”

Her lips twitch, a small smile playing at her lips, “You should know, though. If you hurt her, I’ll stick an arrow in your arse.”

He can’t help but smile at the threat, “I don’t doubt it,” he tells her honestly. He looks up, eyes meeting, “But you’re a smart girl, Sera. You know just as well as I do that this is a disaster waiting to happen.”

“I like you, Solas,” she says again. “May not seem like it, by the way I act, but I do. But the truth is that Ellana’s one of the good ones. Maybe the best. Way better than you, way better than me”- she takes a generous step forward, placing her hands on the desk, stubby fingernails digging into the wood’s varnish - “She cares about people, yeah? More than she should - more than that cute little blonde head of hers can take...so when I tell you that I’ll kill you if you hurt her, I mean it.”

Solas finds himself speechless, a seemingly recurring incidence as of late. He could shout at her; he could yell, report her to the Dean for threatening him. But he does no such thing. Instead, he simply nods, folding his hands neatly in front of him.

“I understand, Sera.”

Immediately, her face lights up as bright as the sun. “Good to know,” she says casually, leaning against his desk. With a sigh, she glances at him, another tone of mischief dancing across her smug expression.

“So. What’s this I’m hearin’ about a tattoo?”

***

Cole, Solas, and Ellana are in Ellana’s apartment.

Solas and Ellana are in the middle of a very intimate, engaged physical activity when Cole barges in awkwardly, like a fumbling child walking in on his parents. They all scream in unison, except for Cole, who merely looks caught off guard.

“I am sorry,” Cole says instantly, though his gaze does not shift from either of them. Ellana’s struggling to pull her shirt back over her stomach as Solas smears the smudged lipstick off of his face with the back of his hand, a blush rising to both of their cheeks. They both scramble off the bed, Solas hovering towards the window while Ellana rushes to him. “I...had a feeling you’d both be here.”

“What’s going on?” She asks, worried. She guides him to the table where she sits him down. “Do you want some milk and honey?”

“Yes, please,” he says dryly. He sits there stiffly while Ellana floats to the kitchen, working quickly and adeptly; she’s done this before. “I am sorry for coming so late,” he says again.

Solas slowly approaches, crossing his arms bashfully. “Has something happened, Cole?”

“Their pain. I can feel it. All the time. Like a humming inside my head, can’t get out. I want to help, but it’s just so much -”

“-Cole,” Ellana breathes, clasping the sides of his face with growing concern. She presses her brows together, frowning, “Please, just -”

But he seems to be gone from her; off in a trace, lost in another word. “I see her. I truly see her. My missing puzzle piece. Defies all facts and numbers. But can she see me? Can she understand? How long can this last? How long until she sees past it all? Until she sees what’s caged inside me. Growling, thrashing, clawing its way out - like a wolf” - his eyes go dark - “How long can I fight myself?”

Ellana stares at him for a long moment, trying to swallow the bubble of worry in her throat. She glances over her shoulder at Solas, whose feet are bolted to the floor, paralyzed, “Solas, what is he saying?”

He blinks, his breath hitching in his throat. “I haven’t the slightest-”

Cole’s grip on Ellana tightens, shocking her. His eyes are a shocking shade of blue ice, almost white. They shine through the strands of sweat stained blonde hair that stick to his face, a beacon lighting the way. “Warm, soft, gentle on the inside,” he says, his breath a choppy whisper. “But on the outside, he’s alone. So sad when he thinks no one’s looking. Sad sometimes even when I’m here. How long until I’m like that too? How long until this light flickers out?”

Solas’s jaw tightens, watching as the color drains from her face. He moves to say her name, but the breath escapes him.

And all at once, Cole seems to break from his trace. His head ducks down, breathing heavily. Ellana rushes to comfort him, picking him up in her arms and leading him to the bed, “Cole, you have to rest. You’re running a fever.”

He looks up at her, through hair, drenched in sweat and plastered to his forehead. “Can I stay here?”

Ellana and Solas exchange a quick, desperate glance. With a heavy sigh, she nods, “If you’d like to, yes - yes, you can stay here.”

Cole breathes a sigh of relief.

***

“Goodnight Ellana. Goodnight Solas.”

Solas, Cole, and Ellana are wedged onto Ellana’s king sized mattress, which seems to have shrunken three sizes the moment Cole wiggled his way in between the two. He’s borrowed a pair of Ellana’s pajamas, which he can remarkably fit into. He’s still wearing his beanie.

Both Ellana and Solas are quiet, but their minds are racing - racing with thoughts of what Cole had said before, thoughts that so clearly belonged to both of them. Ellana clenches her pillow in her hand, Solas balling the blankets between his legs. They’re both not sure what’s worse - hearing the other’s thoughts, or hearing their own out loud.

Hours later, they’re both awake. They can hear Cole snoring. He sounds like a motor.

“Ellana,” Solas whispers, testing. He doesn’t dare look at her.

There’s a long pause, where he thinks perhaps she’s asleep.

“Yeah?”

He wishes she was.

He takes a deep breath. Another silence, until only his soft baritone fills the room with sounds of cynicism. “This is so unprofessional.”

There’s an even longer pause. It’s only broken when Ellana’s stifled laughter fills the hollow room, illuminating its darkest corners.

“It’s not funny,” Solas murmurs. “Imagine if my supervisor walked in right now. He’d fire me in a second.”

“Your supervisor does not have my address,” she scoffs, laughing. “Also, it’s two in the morning.”

“I’m speaking theoretically.”

“You’re speaking crazy.”

“Concern does not warrant insanity.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Well, you’re…”

He stops. Carefully, he adjusts himself, propping himself up by his elbows to look at her over Cole’s sleeping body. She’s looking at him, her hair a mess, her eyes made brighter by the pools of moonlight. Their eyes meet. It’s electric, like always.

He reaches over Cole’s torso to take her hand in his.

“I am so in love with you.”

Everything stops, only if for a moment.

Her breath stops halfway through her chest. She gives his hand a quick squeeze, offering a shaking smile. “I love you too.”

The puzzle clicks again, and Solas knows they’re all right. They’re looking at each other, a moment suspended in the light of the moon, when Cole speaks, deep in a sleeping trance.

“The numbers,” he breathes warily. “They add up. They all add up.”

Solas smiles at her. He gives her hand a squeeze.

They do.


	4. Spring

Once winter has melted into spring, Ellana breaks out her track uniform again. Solas says he likes the way she looks in it (though he prefers her out of it as well). She tells him that he should take up a sport.

He laughs and takes her lips in his. 

Sometimes, though, he entertains the thought. She takes him running with her in the park. He’s gotten quite proficient in it, much like all else he attempts. He can run a mile in seven minutes now, and he’s only been trying at it for a few weeks.

“You’re making me look bad,” she tells him once they round about the pond for the fourth time, marking a mile. She checks her stopwatch briefly, looking up at him with a jokingly disdainful look. “You’re so annoyingly good at everything.”

“That’s only slightly true,” Solas jokes, picking up speed, until he’s a good five paces ahead of her. She grins at the challenge, pumping her legs until she’s running past him, far, far into the distance, past the pond, into the woods, along the nature walk, where the only thing surrounding them are the trees and the air and the sun.

Solas catches up to her once she’s stopped to check her pulse, her breath coming in uneven pants. Her face is bright red, her hair half in a braid, half falling out, sticking to her face like sweaty patchwork. She smirks at him, “Maybe you need a bit more practice.”

“Give it time,” he promises, grinning. God knows they have it. She pushes him playfully, knocking his elbow back, nearly sending him to the ground. He grabs her to regain his balance, pulling her in, wrapping his arms around her.

She shakes her head, looking up at him, “Solas, I’m sweaty. And disgusting.”

“You’re beautiful,” he says, shaking his head, gently placing a kiss on the crown of her head. She steps up on her toes, smirking as she move his lips from her forehead to her mouth, stealing a quick kiss. She begins to pull away, to make her way for the rest of the path, but he takes her arm and pulls her quickly back into him, yearning to press her closer.

It’s the same lips every time, the same satin hair to get his fingers lost in; it’s the same girl, body solid and warm like a promise, the same face to wake up to. But it’s a constant for Solas; a positive reminder. It’s solid earth to grind his feet into and stay from wavering for a while. He can grow his roots into her, make something solid with her. Whatever doubts or insecurities Cole had talked about - whatever supernatural, otherworldly connection he felt towards her - whatever spirits or memories wandered their ways into his dreams, he’s awake now. He’s awake and she’s here and she is Ellana, and he’d never want to be anywhere else.

She reaches to cup his face, thumbs creasing his cheeks, her fingers tingling against his skin. It sounds like a cheesy quote from some book he read once, but it feels like the first time, every time. He cranes her neck, pulling her closer to him with his hands, deepening himself as their bodies press closer. But in an instant, she’s no longer there - vanished, like smoke.

When he’s present enough to focus his gaze, he sees her ahead of him, already bolting in the other direction, running.

“Better start running!” She hollers, gazing over her shoulder to laugh at him in the wake of her dust.

He sighs, catching his breath in his chest before he can lose it again. Quickly, he picks up speed - leaving everything else behind - and follows Ellana, so quickly it feels like flying.


End file.
